MishMASH
by Todash
Summary: A collection of unrelated ficlets written as responses to various prompts. Some are tied to episodes; some are post-war; all are slash: B.J./Hawkeye. Updated with ficlets 95 and 96.
1. The Good Life

**The Good Life**

_(A response to the prompt "favorite." Post-war story.)_

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B.J. looks at Hawkeye sleeping on the couch and smiles. He stands there and drinks it in: the sweet expression on Hawk's face, the hair sticking out in crazy directions, the open book resting on his chest. _This is my new favorite moment,_ he thinks.

The utter peacefulness and perfection of the moment nearly overwhelm him. They've been together for six years and B.J. feels more in love with the man with every passing day. They still laugh a lot… they still have their long, rambling, sometimes nonsensical and sometimes meaningful conversations… they use the word "forever" when they talk about their future together. They live together in San Francisco and every now and then they fly back to Maine to visit Hawkeye's dad. They get every other weekend with Erin, and they shower her with love and sometimes with presents... and at least on one occasion, they let her eat so much junk food at a baseball game that she threw up on the way home.

They take turns mowing the lawn, and sometimes when it's B.J.'s turn, Hawkeye lies in the hammock and playfully criticizes his technique. "You're taking forever, Hunnicutt. I want to go out to eat and you're taking _forever_ with the lawn. Speed it up, already!" And B.J. just continues at his usual methodical pace, getting the job done right rather than fast, while Hawkeye complains loudly about it until B.J. promises to pick up the check at dinner.

On Sundays, they share the newspaper in bed, and Hawkeye reads the comics to B.J., using funny voices and sound effects. When they go to the movies, more often than not they hold hands after the lights go down.

It's been six years, and still they look at each other with love and longing and fire and passion.

B.J. smiles as he gazes down at his sleeping mate, and finally he reaches out to smooth the unruly hair. His touch rouses Hawkeye, who starts, then squints up. "Hey."

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly 2 o'clock. We have time before we need to go pick up Erin."

Hawk tosses his book aside, holds a hand up to B.J., and says, "Come here, lie down with me."

And B.J. crawls onto the couch, puts his arms around Hawkeye, and snuggles right up against him. He closes his eyes with a smile, and he thinks: _This__ is my new favorite moment._


	2. Resolutions

**Resolutions**

__

_(A response to the prompt "resolutions.")_

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As the party raged on inside the mess tent, Hawkeye stepped outside and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was cold out, but he didn't mind. After being inside a warm tent amongst a throng of revelers, he was in need of some cooling off. He took another few steps away from the tent, into the shadows, and the sounds of the party faded just a little bit more.

He heard the footsteps behind him and smiled, knowing full well who it was without turning around.

"Got any New Year's resolutions, Hawk?" came the soft voice from behind. Strong arms closed around his waist as B.J. planted a kiss on his neck. Hawkeye put his own arms on top of B.J.'s.

"Do you?" he replied.

"I asked you first," B.J. said with a chuckle.

Hawkeye leaned back into B.J.'s embrace. He loved the feeling of strong, masculine arms around him, a solid body against his back. "Let's see… I resolve to clean the Swamp… at least one day a month."

"That would be an improvement, that's for sure."

"And I resolve to stop tormenting Frank… on days that begin with the letter W."

Soft laughter, muffled because B.J.'s face was buried in his neck. It tickled. "I'll go along with that."

"And I resolve to stop complaining about the slop that's served up in the mess tent."

"That one you won't keep for more than a day or two."

"You're probably right about that. OK, I resolve to _cut back_ on complaining about the slop that's served up in the mess tent."

B.J.'s arms tightened around his waist. "All very noble resolutions, Hawk."

"So what are yours, Beej?" Hawkeye was amazed to see some snowflakes starting to fall. Not many… it certainly wasn't going to be a storm, but even a few flakes on New Year's Eve in Korea seemed magical.

"I only have one," B.J. replied.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I resolve to tell my man that I love him every day. Starting with right now. I love you."

Hawkeye's smile grew and tears stung his eyes. "I love you too, Beej."

"Happy New Year, Hawk."

Finally he turned around and faced B.J., looked into his lover's eyes and practically melted at the naked adoration he saw there. "Happy New Year." He placed his palm on the side of B.J.'s face and leaned in for a kiss. Snowflakes affixed themselves to his and B.J.'s lashes.

From inside the mess tent, they both heard, "Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!" Followed by the roar of a very happy, very tipsy crowd.

Hawkeye helped himself to another kiss, his arms pulling B.J. closer, their legs entwining. The kiss deepened and B.J. moaned his approval. Hawkeye responded with a throaty growl.

He couldn't imagine a better way to start a new year.


	3. Movie Magic

**Movie Magic**

_(A response to the prompt "movie." Post-war story.)_

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The first time B.J. and Hawkeye went to the movies together―in public, after the war, as a couple―was June of 1954.

Ostensibly, it wasn't a big deal, just a couple of guys going to the movies, but to B.J., it was kind of momentous. He didn't tell Hawkeye, but his stomach was fluttering nervously, as if he were 15 and going out on his very first date, ever.

They'd seen countless films together in Korea, of course. Many, many nights of sitting together in the mess tent, enduring bad movies or the umpteenth showing of the same movie… suffering through defective films that would break or lose their sound every three minutes… every now and then getting lucky and being treated to a flick that was both entertaining and problem-free.

But this was different. They weren't in the middle of a war anymore, they weren't attending movies in the mess tent anymore, and most importantly, they weren't going out as "just friends" anymore.

This was a date―a movie date―even though they were the only people aware of that fact. The moviegoers around them didn't and couldn't know. They didn't hold hands or neck when the lights went down, they didn't act romantic toward one another… that wouldn't do, out in public like this. They pretended, just like they always did when they went out to restaurants or bars or wherever. Nothing to see here, folks… just two guys hanging out together… nothing out of the ordinary.

But despite the smokescreen, B.J. would always fondly remember "Dial M for Murder" as his first date-movie with Hawkeye. He would always remember that they bumped hands when reaching into the popcorn tub a total of five times… two of those times, they looked at each other and grinned in the darkness. He would always remember that Hawkeye leaned over and whispered that Grace Kelly looked gorgeous, and feeling a pang of jealousy for no fathomable reason, because after all, Grace Kelly _did_ look gorgeous.

He would always remember that they talked about the movie for the entire car ride home, turning it over and admiring it and heralding Hitchcock as a genius, as if they hadn't realized that before.

And he would always remember that they called Erin on the west coast after they got home, checking in on her, making sure she was all right and behaving herself and listening to her mother. And that when they hung up the phone, they turned off the lights and headed hand-in-hand to the bedroom, where they peeled off each other's clothes and exchanged long, loving looks before finally slipping between the sheets.

B.J. kept his ticket stub from the movie. It was kind of a silly thing to do, he supposed, but he didn't care. He put it into a box that also contained his dog tags, his draft notice, and the letter he'd received from Hawkeye that was dated November 8, 1953… the one he'd read so many times he practically had it memorized, even though it was six pages long.

And even many years later, when he pulled that box out of storage and found a movie-ticket stub that didn't have anything printed on it besides the price of admission… he remembered everything, every last little detail, about that night, and he smiled.


	4. Matters of the Heart

**Matters of the Heart**

_(A response to the prompt "sweet." Takes place during the episode "That's Show Biz.")_

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Sweetness had arrived at the 4077th several days ago in the person of Marina Ryan. The effervescent USO singer was, in fact, so sweet that B.J. felt like he needed to test himself for diabetes every time he was around her.

_Don't be like that,_ he scolded himself, _it's not nice._ It's just that he couldn't help being a little annoyed with her, considering she had developed a serious crush on Hawkeye and made no attempt to hide it. Even though B.J. knew she was no threat, he felt threatened anyway. She was just so _young_. And sweet. How could Hawk resist her? Hell, in another lifetime, B.J. himself probably would've fallen for her.

Although he tried not to, he could overhear Hawkeye's conversation with her next door in post-op. Hawk was letting her down easy, telling her that he couldn't take advantage of her feelings for him, that he was too cynical, too hardened for somebody like her. They had different blood types, he was saying. "Innocence positive, lechery negative." B.J. nearly smiled at that; it was classic Hawkeye. He closed his eyes, imagining the girl's dejection, empathizing with her. It was easy to fall in love with the charming chief surgeon. Nobody knew that better than he did.

Hawk came through the door then, looking spent and sad, his unpleasant task behind him. "You heard?" he asked.

"Some." B.J. pulled off his scrub top. "She's young, she's pretty, she's fresh-faced, and she adores you. I have no idea why you just gave her the brush-off."

Hawkeye went to him and drew him into a warm embrace. "She's not you," he said into B.J.'s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

Colonel Potter walked into the room at that moment. "Take it to the supply room, boys," he said gently, barely batting an eye as he walked past. This was his third war; he'd probably seen it all, and he certainly didn't seem to have a problem with Hawkeye and B.J.'s secret. He just wanted them to keep it a secret.

Obediently, they left the hospital and headed toward the supply room. As they walked, Hawk discreetly ran a hand lightly along B.J.'s hip, lower than a friend would ordinarily touch another friend. B.J. managed to suppress a moan. He couldn't wait to get his clothes off and have Hawkeye touch him in that same spot.

They were barely inside the supply room when Hawkeye grabbed his arm and pulled him into a thorough, intoxicating kiss. "Mmmm," B.J. said when he could. "Marina has no idea what she's missing out on."

Hawk gave him a slightly pained look and shook his head. "Let's not talk about her anymore, OK? I feel bad enough already, I don't want to keep thinking about it."

B.J. ran his hands over the other man's arms, hoping to soothe. "I'm sorry, Hawk. Come here," he took his hand and pulled him down onto the mattress. "Let's see if we can't get your mind on something else, all right?"

Hawkeye accepted the offered kisses. "If I'm lechery negative, what does that make you?"

B.J. didn't miss a beat. "Hawkeye positive. You're all I need in my blood."

"Damn," Hawk said with a faint smile, "is it any wonder I chose you?"

They laughed softly together until passion took over and the only sounds left were sighs and moans. B.J. buried his face in Hawkeye's shoulder, grazed fingernails up his back, and thought, _I sure am glad he prefers salty surgeons to sweet singers._


	5. Dog Gone

**Dog Gone**

_(A response to the prompt "searching." Post-war story.)_

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"Radar!" a panicky six-year-old Erin Hunnicutt screamed at the top of her hardy lungs as she practically ran down the alley. "Radar!"

Behind her, B.J. and Hawkeye tried to keep up. "Why the hell did we let her name that dog Radar, anyway?" B.J. asked in between puffs of breath.

"She's a very persuasive young lady," Hawkeye replied as he maintained his jog-almost-run. "Much like her father. After all, you somehow managed to persuade me right into bed, lo, those many years ago."

B.J. shot him a look. "_You_ seduced _me_, Hawk."

Hawkeye waved a dismissive hand, as if facts were unimportant unless they supported his side of the story. "In any case, the name of the dog will no longer be an issue if we can't find the damn thing. And honestly, I shudder to think how she's gong to react if that happens."

B.J. nodded. "We _have_ to find him."

Up ahead, Erin took a sudden turn down another alley, and B.J. immediately called after her to slow down. Although she was frantic to find her dog, she did actually stop and wait for her dads to catch up to her. B.J. put a hand on her back as the three of them looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of a black tail or a couple of erect ears. "Erin, honey, I know you want to find Radar, but we don't want you to get hurt. So let's take it easy, OK?"

She nodded, but he could tell she was trying hard to keep control. "Where'd he go, Daddy?"

"I don't know, but he couldn't have gotten far. He's around here. He has to be." That last was more of a desperate wish than confidence. He exchanged a look with Hawkeye, the words unspoken between them. Concern for the dog, sure, but more concern for Erin, and what the hell they were going to do if the dog couldn't be found.

Jumbled thoughts filled his head, like how to deal with an inconsolable daughter and how he would explain this turn of events to Peg, and just then the three of them heard a bark. Radar's bark. Not too far away, either.

Erin took off as fast as her six-year-old legs could travel, and Hawkeye got more of a jump than B.J. did, but the three of them sprinted in the direction of the barking. Following Hawkeye at a dead run reminded B.J. of bolting to the chopper pad at the 4077th, a lifetime ago.

"There he is, Daddy! I see him!" Erin called back and pointed. "Radar!" she screeched, arms outstretched.

As B.J. approached, right on Hawkeye's heels, he saw that the dog was indeed up ahead in a field, crouched and intent on something, barking at whatever it was. Moving a little closer, finally reaching his daughter, B.J. realized Radar had chased a rabbit back here, into this field, where the critter had managed to find safe haven in a hole in the ground. The dog was vexed by not being able to actually catch his prey, but he was no longer on the run. Whew. No blood, no guts, and a safe – and found – dog. Nothing at all to upset the child. Couldn't ask for a happier ending.

Hawkeye turned to him, smiling broadly. "Found: one Radar," he said, looking as relieved as B.J. felt.

"Thank God," B.J. replied, feeling the dread that'd been sitting in his stomach fade away. They instinctively linked hands. B.J. studied Hawkeye's face and saw the unmistakable look of concern, relief, and love that could only belong to a father, and he felt tears sting his eyes. They were a true family, and Hawkeye was Erin's father just as he was, and to hell with the hateful, narrow-minded neighbors who thought they were a disgrace to Mill Valley. To hell with 'em. At this moment – at _many_ moments – there was no more loving or supportive family on this earth than the three of them.

As Erin picked up her dog and cooed into this ear, telling him he was a bad boy for running away but that he was forgiven, B.J. impulsively pulled Hawkeye to him and held on tight, shutting his eyes to keep tears from falling. He couldn't articulate exactly why he was so overcome with emotion, but he figured Hawkeye understood.

And Hawkeye did. Into B.J.'s ear, he whispered, "It's all right, Beej. The family's back together again."

They pulled back and looked at each other with matching smiles, and B.J. nodded. Behind them, Erin put the dog leash on Radar and scolded, "No treats for you tonight!"

B.J. looked from his daughter to his lover and said, "Come on, you two. Let's go home." Erin and her dog headed back up the alley and he and Hawkeye followed closely, their arms looped around each other, hips brushing.


	6. Dream World

**Dream World**

_(A response to the prompt "asleep.")_

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When B.J.'s asleep, he lives in a sublime alternate world. He's a better surgeon, and no young man dies under his care. He's a happier soul who doesn't drown his troubles and fears in alcohol every chance he gets. He's a more thoughtful tentmate who doesn't play practical jokes on Charles to amuse himself.

But in his dream world, he is not a better husband, because he still lusts after his best friend, still longs to feel Hawkeye's arms around him, still wishes he weren't married because that's proving to be damn inconvenient these days. In his dreams, he follows through on the temptation. He crawls into Hawkeye's bed, covers his face with kisses and runs his hands over his skin, pulls off clothing and revels in the feeling of their naked bodies connecting.

Best of all, when he's asleep, he can imagine that Hawkeye lets it all happen, _wants_ it to happen, and doesn't send him away with a firm "no." Because that's what B.J. fears more than the guilt that would come with betraying his wife. The possibility of rejection is what stops him from acting on his feelings in the waking world.

And so he loves going to sleep, and he spends much more time dreaming than he ever did before the war.


	7. A Tale of Three Fruitcakes

**A Tale of Three Fruitcakes**

_(A response to the prompt "fruitcake.")_

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"Did your wife _seriously_ send you a fruitcake?" Hawkeye said with a horrified expression on his face.

"Now, be nice or you won't get any," B.J. said, balancing the open box on his lap and contemplating the concoction inside.

"I don't _want_ any, thank you!" Hawkeye sniffed in the general area of the care package and recoiled. "I have to tell you—and this is really saying something—I'd eat almost anything in the mess tent before I'd eat that."

"Fine. More for me, then."

"If you have a death wish."

"You're overreacting. Fruitcake isn't that bad. Maybe you should open your mind and try some." He held out the box.

Hawk stepped back. "Keep that away from me!"

B.J. had to laugh. "That's a pretty extreme hatred you've got going, Hawk. You know what? I accept the challenge."

Hawkeye looked at him closely. "What challenge would that be?"

"To get you to try this fruitcake." He once again lifted the box in Hawkeye's direction.

"Won't happen," Hawk said, setting his jaw. "I'm not eating any and you can't make me." Suddenly he sounded and looked very much like a petulant child. Hell of it was, it was very endearing on him.

B.J. sat there on his cot, thinking for a long time, as Hawkeye watched, looking wary and yet somehow intrigued. "How about," B.J. finally said, a gleam in his eye, "if you eat a piece of this fruitcake, I'll shave off my moustache."

Hawkeye's eyes widened and a smile slowly spread across his face. B.J. knew he'd hit pay dirt. "And you can't grow it back," Hawk insisted, pointing a finger.

B.J. tilted his head, "Fine, fine. But you have to eat an entire piece, Hawk. A piece that I cut for you."

"Deal. Deal," Hawkeye said, sitting down next to B.J. on the cot.

B.J. cut a larger-than-average slice of fruitcake and Hawkeye held his nose, but he did, in fact, eat it all… quickly and without complaint.

When the last bite was swallowed, he spread his arms. "There. All done." He smiled, rubbing his hands together, and said, "Off with it, Hunnicutt."

B.J. started to laugh.

"What?" Hawkeye snapped. "You're going to welsh on this bet? Is that it?"

"No, no. I'm going to shave off my moustache. As promised. Only thing is…"

Hawk squinted at him, "Whaaaaat?"

He put a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder and confessed. "I was going to shave it off anyway. Potter asked me to. And I told him I would; I'm kind of tired of it."

"Why, you dirty—" As Hawkeye tackled B.J., the two of them falling back onto the cot, the care package and its precious contents went flying off B.J.'s lap, landing face-down on the positively filthy Swamp floor.

The two men watched it happen, then looked at each other. "You better make that up to me," B.J. whispered.

"Consider us even," Hawkeye said, and then smiled. He leaned in for a kiss. "I hope," he said just before his mouth met B.J.'s, "that I taste like fruitcake."


	8. Tenuous Connection

**Tenuous Connection**

_(A response to the prompt "rushed." Takes place during the episode "Lil.")_

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My phone call to Peg was very rushed. Radar said he was lucky to even get the connection, and that it was likely to only last for a couple minutes. I needed to get to the point and get off the phone quick.

"Hi Peg, this is Hawkeye—"

"Oh God, is B.J. all right?"

Of course she would think the worst, hearing from me like this. "He's fine, Peg. I'm sorry I gave you a scare—"

"Thank God! Can I talk to him?"

"He's not with me right now. I actually have a really selfish reason for calling. I'm trying to find out what B.J. stands for. The initials. He won't tell me."

She paused, evidently confused. "They don't stand for anything. That's just his name. B.J."

So it was a family conspiracy. Either that, or they were both telling the truth. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Don't you think I'd know if they stood for something? Why wouldn't you take his word for it?"

Why indeed. "OK, Peg, thanks. That's actually all I wanted to know. I've gotta run—"

"Hawkeye?"

"Yeah?" Time was running out now; the line would go dead at any moment.

"Tell him I love him. Tell him to write me." She hesitated for a second, then added, "His letters are filled with you, you know that? Hawkeye this and Hawkeye that."

"Well, it's a small war. Small camp, small tent. You know how it goes."

"You can't have him, Hawkeye. I'm going to be needing him back."

The phone line went dead then, the connection lost. Saved me from having to lie to her. I couldn't have B.J.? Hell, I already had him.


	9. Morning After

**Morning After**

_(A response to the prompt "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.")_

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Hawkeye opened first one eye, then the other. Verrrry carefully. There was a kettledrum banging in his head. A billion tiny lightning bolts flashed in front of his eyes. He put a hand to his forehead and managed to murmur, "Am I dead?"

"No, but not for lack of trying." B.J. smiled down at him.

"Don't smile so loud!" Hawkeye pleaded. He looked around, waiting for his vision to clear and for his brain to kick in, but once it did, he winced at the memory of the night before. "I got horribly, horribly drunk, didn't I?"

"About as horribly as I've ever seen you."

"I threw up, didn't I?"

"Repeatedly."

"You cleaned me up, brought me back here, undressed me, and put me to bed, didn't you?"

"As you sang 'Amazing Grace' the whole while."

"Good Lord, Beej, I'm disgusting. Is there nothing you won't do for me?"

B.J. leaned over and gave him a kiss on the mouth. "Haven't found it yet," he said with a grin.


	10. The Night Before

**The Night Before**

_(A response to the challenge: write a dialogue-only story. Not as easy as you might think. Post-war by many years.)_

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"Hard to believe, Hawk, but I think everything's all set. Are we forgetting anything?"

"I'm sure we're forgetting something. We'll remember at the last minute and go into a frenzy and Erin will glare at us with unforgiving, fierce eyes and tell us how horribly we ruined her big day."

"OK, so you're a little stressed. Don't worry so much, Hawk. If we _did_ forget anything, it's got to be minor… We couldn't possibly have overlooked something big."

"If you say so."

"Trust me. We've been ultra-organized for months. We know exactly how many people are coming, we have the catering planned right down to the cherries on top of the ice cream sundaes, we have none other than Radar 'F-stop' O'Reilly taking care of the photography, and we have the sweetest clergyman in the universe, one Father John Patrick Francis Mulcahy, performing the ceremony. I'm telling you, it's perfect."

"Makes me wish I could get married and have a wedding this nice."

"Huh? Wait a minute—"

"I meant married to _you_, Beej. Sheesh. Don't get all insecure on me. You know what I was saying."

"If you and I had a wedding, it would be… probably the most bizarre celebration that Mill Valley has ever seen."

"Well, for now, I think we'll settle for orchestrating Erin's big day. That's been quite enough, thank you."

"I hope Peg doesn't dissolve into a puddle and spend the entire day sniffling and bemoaning the fact that 'her baby' is all grown up."

"That sounds like what I was planning to do."

"Hawkeye, I need you to be strong tomorrow. How else am I going to get through this, if I don't have your steady hand on my shoulder?"

"You're a rock, Beej. More in control than I am. You've been so matter-of-fact about this whole thing. Your little girl—your only child—is getting married, and you've been Mr. Efficiency in Action. You impress the hell out of me."

"Oh, don't worry. After it's all over? After Erin and Jack are off on their honeymoon to Miami Beach? I'll be a quivering bowl of jello, you can mark my words. You'll be holding me while I cry and shake and whimper. But until then… yeah. I need to hold it together for the sake of my daughter."

"Our daughter."

"Of course."

"I'm so glad she's found her Prince Charming."

"They make a fantastic couple, don't they, Hawk? They're completely in tune with each other… finish each other's sentences. They remind me of us."

"We finish each other's sentences?"

"Don't be cute, Hawk. She found herself a very good man."

"Yes, she did. And so did I."

"Awww. You sure do know the right words to get my mind off the most nerve-wracking night of my life."

"I can do even better than words. Come here."

"With pleasure."


	11. Unlocked

**Unlocked**

_(A response to the prompt "flood.")_

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B.J. pulls his dog tags out of the old, faded shoebox and stares at them dangling from his fingers. A wistful smile forms on his face as memories come flooding back.

Best Care Anywhere.

Bad gin and worse food. The same movies over and over. Practical jokes to pass the time.

Paranoid, borderline psychotic Frank Burns… pompous, insufferable Charles Emerson Winchester _the third_.

Witnessing the gradual softening of Margaret Houlihan. Dying to see what scheme Klinger would come up with next. Alternately worrying about Radar's naivete and marveling at his efficiency and knowledge.

Too many wounded and not enough sleep. Blood and lost limbs… pain and lost lives.

Igor and Sidney Freedman and Colonel Potter.

Hawkeye… Hawkeye… Hawkeye.

Still staring at the dog tags, staring into his past, B.J.'s smile grows. Ah, see… that's what Korea really comes down to. Bright blue eyes and a mischievous grin. Exuberant, full-throated laughter. Stolen moments in the supply tent, two days holed up in a hotel room in Seoul. Spooning on his tiny cot when they had the Swamp to themselves.

Licking gin off his back. Laughing at his bad jokes. Soothing him after a rough OR session.

Oh, the memories come back to B.J. in a rush, all right. It's too much, and it's too painful, and suddenly he's not smiling anymore. It's as if a light has been flicked off. Suddenly he's desperate to bottle it all back up again… it's safer that way, and saner.

Instinctively he throws the dog tags back into the box as if they'd bit him. He shoves the shoebox into the corner of the closet, where it's been hidden for years, where it belongs.

His life now is Peg, Erin, and the new baby, Joshua. The war is years behind him. Hawkeye is years behind him.

He wonders why he ever pulled that box out to begin with. Peg calls from downstairs that she needs his help balancing the checkbook. He replies, "Coming!" and shuts the closet door with a bang.

The memories are safely locked away again, in the dark corner of the bedroom closet.


	12. Confusing Musings

**Confusing Musings**

_(A response to the prompt "confusion.")_

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This is really confusing.

He's kissing me, and I'm kissing him, but it's so wrong. Two men—wait, two supposedly heterosexual men—have no business kissing each other. Whose idea was this? I'm not sure—everything seems a blur since we found ourselves alone in the Swamp after Frank left and the chess game we were playing ended in stalemate.

Hmm, stalemate. Interesting concept.

I don't think we'd ever played to stalemate before. Usually I win, but Hawkeye has had his moments. With the tie determined and the game over, Hawkeye yawned and said, "That's it. I'm done for tonight."

"I'd beat you if we played another game. But fine, that's OK, we'll stop. Goodnight, chicken."

"You might win, but that's only because I'm too tired to concentrate, _fella_. If the only way you can guarantee a win is by taking advantage of the groggy and sleepy, that's pretty pathetic."

"Excuses, excuses," I said, and threw a pillow at him.

He threw it back.

I charged him then, a full body blow, and we landed together on his bunk. The fighting stopped as abruptly as it had started. We were laughing and then suddenly we weren't. I was above him, pinning him to his cot and looking into those beautiful eyes and thinking (not for the first time) _damn, he's sexy_. I have no idea what he was thinking, but it wasn't _get the hell off me_, or he wouldn't have done what he did. His eyes never leaving mine, he reached up and ran his fingers over my jawline, then stroked my cheek. Actually caressed it. I shut my eyes and suppressed a moan… barely. "Hawkeye," I whispered, and it wasn't a plea to stop.

And that's when the kissing began. I leaned down, but he reached up, and in some surreal, meeting-of-the-minds way, we made the decision together.

It's wrong and we should stop. Somebody could walk in at any moment. The Army frowns on this kind of behavior, to put it mildly. Oh, and by the way, I have a wife back home. Funny how that fact is just coming back to me now.

This is _really_ confusing, and we need to stop. But his mouth tastes so good, his body beneath me feels so right, his arms around me are so strong and warm.

His tongue slides into my mouth and meets my own. This time I can't suppress the moan. I don't want this feeling to end… ever.

I lay my body directly on top of his and he rolls so that I end up underneath him. He pulls back long enough to give me a sweet smile. Then he's kissing me again, and his hands are fumbling at the waistband of my pants.

Wrong, right—who knows, and I don't care. Confusion goes away if you just stop thinking.


	13. First Kiss

**First Kiss**

_(A response to the prompt "first kiss.")_

------

Once the thought entered his head, there was no way to get it to leave.

Suddenly, one day, for no reason that he could identify, B.J. looked over at his bunkmate and wondered idly what it would be like to kiss Hawkeye.

And from that moment forward, the idea took up residence in his head and refused to go away.

He imagined all kinds of scenarios. Maybe they would kiss in the shower, hungrily, passionately, aware of their nakedness. Or before bed one night, both of them sitting on Hawk's cot, drinks in hand. Or in the supply room, away from prying eyes and with his back pressed against the wall and Hawkeye pressed firmly against his front… a long, wet, lazy kiss that would leave them both breathless.

Or maybe it would happen in Tokyo, away from the war, when they were feeling light and happy and temporarily carefree, and the kiss would just be an extension of that relaxed mood.

Or after a particularly grueling OR session, while they were peeling off their whites in the scrub room after Charles and Potter had already gone. Fatigue and tension and frustration pulling them inexplicably together, the kiss taking them out of their dark moods and into serenity and something approaching bliss.

In all of the fantasies, Hawkeye was willing and B.J. was bold. In all of the fantasies, the first kiss led immediately to a second, third, even fourth.

"Beej?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and blinked at Hawkeye, who was looking at him closely as they strolled to the O Club. "Hmm?"

"You weren't listening to me. You're a million miles away. Wanna share?"

B.J. smiled and decided that, even though the fantasies were sweet and satisfying in their own way, it was time for the reality.

As it turned out, their first kiss took place behind the O Club, where nobody could see them, where B.J. was bold and Hawkeye was willing. And that first kiss led immediately to a second… third… fourth. And after that, B.J. stopped counting.


	14. What Lies Ahead

**What Lies Ahead**

_(A response to the prompt "the future.")_

------

Rosie set the bottle down in front of him. What number beer was this? Hawkeye didn't know. But he was feeling a nice buzz right about now, so safe to say… there'd been quite a few. He took a long pull from it. Still tasted good. Not time to stop drinking yet.

B.J. was smiling at him across the table. Leaning back, one arm snaked out across the chair next to him, his eyes almost at half-mast. It ought to be a crime, looking all delicious like that. Delicious and _unavailable_… that was the crime.

"Go on," B.J. said with a lazy hand gesture. "You were saying…?"

Hawkeye blinked. "Uh, refresh my memory. This beer came along and completely captured my attention. I was saying what?"

B.J. laughed a little, showing unnaturally white teeth. "You were about to predict what my life is going to be like in five years. Like some kind of drunk, deranged soothsayer. Tell me, oh wise one… what awaits five years down the road? Is the war going to be over by then?"

Hawkeye was in a playful—not to mention optimistic—mood. "Yeah, sure, the war'll be over by then. Maybe by a year or two." He cocked his head as he watched his friend, using this silly conversation as an excuse to stare, because damn, he loved to stare. "I predict your life will be quite wonderful, Beej. You'll be back in Mill Valley with the wife and kid, with your house and the white picket fence and the dog… is it Wiggles?"

Still with the white teeth. "Waggle."

"Yeah. Waggle." Hawkeye couldn't help smiling right back. "So Erin will be, what? Almost 7 years old, and in addition to her, you've had a post-war baby—a son, all towheaded and cute. He's about 6 months old, the apple of his daddy's eye… got the same wholesome good looks, the same captivating blue eyes…" He stopped himself, aware that he was drifting into dangerous territory, that he was sounding entranced and smitten. He cleared his throat, took another swig of beer. "Anyway, you're working at some prestigious San Francisco hospital… highly respected young surgeon, ridiculously successful, insanely happy. You've got it all, Beej. The great career, the terrific family, the gorgeous house in the suburbs. I almost envy you."

B.J. laughed. "Almost, huh?"

"Well, you know. If I aspired to that kind of thing."

"I see. So, Benjamin Franklin Pierce… he who doesn't aspire to the wife and the kiddies and the dog… tell me, what is _your_ life going to be like in five years?"

Hawkeye picked up his bottle of beer and drank some more, only dimly aware he was stalling. His eyes never left B.J.'s face. _If life were fair, I would get what I wanted, and in five years I would be living with the love of my life, insanely happy myself, because I'd be with the only person who's ever understood me... who's ever seen through me and into me, and liked me anyway. If life were fair, I'd get the highly respected San Francisco surgeon with the captivating blue eyes and the blinding smile and the voice that seems to soothe me like no other sound on this planet. I'd get to spend the rest of my life with him… safe, content, joyful._

If only life were fair…

Finally he shrugged, his smile gone. "Oh you know, Beej. Footloose and fancy-free. No troubles, no cares, no ties. What more could a man want?"


	15. Don't Ask

**Don't Ask****  
**  
_(A response to the prompt "questions.")_

----

_If I were discharged tomorrow, what would I say to him? Hey, thanks for all the good times, nice knowin' ya? If __he__ were discharged tomorrow, what would I want him to say to me?__  
__  
__Is this love? Lust? An overreaction to our circumstances?_

_What are we doing?__  
_  
Most of the time, B.J. manages to avoid asking himself these questions. Most of the time, he successfully lives in the moment… in the whispers and the caresses… in the darkness and the connection of two bodies.

But not all the time. Sometimes when he's alone, he can't stop himself from wondering. What he's been doing… it's so out of character, he almost doesn't recognize himself.

The questions come from the B.J. he knows. The person he's asking is a B.J. he's trying to understand.

_What do I mean to him? Hell, I'm not even sure I know what he means to me.__  
__  
__Where do my wife and daughter fit into all this? How is it that I seem to dismiss them, cast them aside, every night as I seek comfort in Hawkeye's arms? How did I get to the point where that's even possible?__  
__  
__Do I really think Peg won't figure it out? Won't see it written on my face? Won't hear it in my voice?__  
__  
__What are we doing? __  
_  
The B.J. who's on the receiving end of the questions has no idea how to respond. He can't justify, can't explain, can't comprehend his own behavior.

Doesn't seem to stop him, though.

Just because he's questioning his actions doesn't mean he's interested in _changing_ his actions.

He laughs once, shakes his head. He's pathetic… weak… not the kind of man he always thought he'd be.

_Ask the questions… don't ask them… it doesn't matter. Whatever the answers are, they don't have any power.__  
__  
__I'm too far gone. Not capable of turning back. Not concerned with the consequences.__  
__  
_The door opens. Hawkeye's all lanky confidence, self-assured exuberance, boyish charm. B.J. smiles, feels the weight of something warm and indefinable in his stomach. He stands and takes Hawkeye's hand.

_What the hell am I doing?__  
_


	16. Conspicuous by Its Absence

**Conspicuous by Its Absence**

_(A response to the prompt "missing.")_

----

B.J. feels Hawkeye's warm breath on the back of his neck. Hawkeye's lying against him, his left hand running up B.J.'s naked side… then across B.J.'s chest… then moving on to B.J.'s arm. B.J.'s eyes flutter shut… he revels in the sensation of his lover's fingertips gliding over his skin. Finally Hawkeye's fingers come to rest on B.J.'s left hand—and he goes still. "Beej?"

B.J. knows, of course, what Hawkeye has realized. "Don't make a big deal out of it, Hawk."

"Your wedding ring is missing."

"Not missing. Put away."

Hawkeye strokes B.J.'s fourth finger. There's an indentation where the ring used to be. "You didn't have to—"

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."

"Not wearing it… that doesn't make you any less married. I know the reality. I'm not a child."

"Maybe I didn't do it for you. Maybe I did it for me." B.J.'s glad that his back is to Hawkeye, that his lover can't see his face.

"Beej—"

"Really, Hawk. Let's not have this conversation now."

Hawkeye, as usual needing to get in the last word, tries to reassure. "Your marriage will survive this. Wear your ring. I know who you belong to, when everything is said and done. I know you and I are temporary… I accept that."

B.J. twines his fingers through Hawkeye's, touches his lips to a couple of knuckles. "You don't know everything, you ass," he says, a smile in his voice, a secret in his heart.

If he and Hawkeye were only temporary, his wedding ring wouldn't be tucked away at the bottom of his footlocker. But that's a confession for another day. He closes his eyes and drifts toward sleep, his left hand gripping Hawkeye's.


	17. Does She?

**Does She?**

_(A response to the prompt "jealous.")_

----

"Onto the dance floor, you two, for your first dance as newlyweds! Everyone give a hand for the happy couple!"

B.J., standing off to the side next to Peg, applauded on autopilot as he watched Hawkeye and his bride step hand-in-hand onto the dance floor. Linda floated into Hawkeye's arms as if she belonged there. She was a good height for him, not too short, and she rested her head on his shoulder as Hawkeye grinned and closed his eyes.

B.J. watched… stared, really… as they danced to Doris Day's "I'll Never Stop Loving You." Peg might've been standing at his side but she could've been all the way back in Mill Valley for all he knew. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the newlyweds.

_Linda's a good woman,_ he thought. _She'll be good for him. He looks happy… he __is__ happy.__  
_  
_Be happy for them, dammit. Is that so hard to do?__  
_  
Yeah… yeah, apparently it was.

_Does she really know you, Hawkeye? Does she know you like I do?__  
__  
__Does she know that you sometimes giggle in your sleep? That you're afraid of mice but you love guinea pigs and hamsters? Does she know that you had a goldfish when you were 6 and you named him Bubbles and when he jumped out of his bowl and died, you cried for hours?__  
__  
__Does she have any idea that your favorite color is violet and that you like your popcorn buttered but not salted? That you love onions on your hot dog? That you get this little gleam in your eye when you're making up a story, and that once you start a crossword puzzle, you need to finish it or you'll go crazy?__  
__  
__She'll never know you like I do. No one will.__  
__  
_Out on the dance floor, the newly married Pierces twirled and laughed and beamed at each other. And B.J. watched.

Suddenly he felt a tug at his hand and he looked down to see his wife's fingers curling around his own. He shifted his eyes to her face and she smiled. "They make a really cute couple, don't they?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, though he felt a twinge in his gut as he lied. "They sure do."


	18. New Chapters

**New Chapters**

_(A response to the prompt "wedding." Post-war story.)_

----

B.J. stood on the balcony overlooking the beach, watching the people dancing below, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally zeroing in on Erin. His 6-year-old daughter wasn't so much dancing as jumping up and down and then twirling around in one of the most endearing displays he'd seen in quite some time. He was so far up that he couldn't even hear the music playing, but judging by the dancing that was going on, it was an upbeat, fun song.

The ceremony had ended about a half hour ago, and he'd excused himself away from a conversation with his former father-in-law and made his way back to the beach house, wanting a little alone time. He'd been standing here watching the wedding guests dance and mingle, lost in thought but enjoying the scene playing out below.

Now he watched as Erin twirled a little too enthusiastically and fell to the sand, but she was clearly laughing up a storm, and B.J. laughed too. His daughter was quite a character. She was one of the joys of his life.

He was so intent on watching her that he didn't even hear the other joy of his life come up behind him. Hawkeye's hands settled on his shoulders gently, and B.J. jumped, caught off guard.

"I'm sorry," Hawkeye said with a smile in his voice. "I didn't mean to scare you." He moved to stand next to B.J. and looked down at the wedding guests having their fun. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to. Starting to worry, actually. You all right?"

B.J. looked at Hawkeye, gave a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just wanted to find a little peace and quiet for a while, that's all."

Hawkeye cocked his head. "You pissed?"

"At who?" B.J. asked, confused.

Hawkeye shrugged. "Me. Anyone. Your ex-wife just got remarried. If you're feeling upset or angry, I would think that's a perfectly understandable reaction—"

B.J. nipped that thought in the bud. "Hawkeye, I am completely fine with Peg getting remarried. I'm not pissed or upset or regretful in any way. You _know_ that."

Did Hawkeye really think he had second thoughts about his life choices? The soul-searching had come to an end a long time ago, and B.J. never once looked back. He'd made the right decision.

Hawkeye snaked an arm around B.J.'s waist and pulled him against his side. "Good, I'm glad. Because they look very happy, and Joe's a terrific guy."

"He is," B.J. agreed. Joe Livingston was a 3rd-grade teacher who clearly loved Peg and adored Erin, and would do anything to make them both happy. B.J. had no doubts about the man or his loyalty to his new family.

"It was a beautiful wedding," Hawkeye added.

"Yeah, it was. Perfect weather for a wedding on the beach. They lucked out."

Hawkeye gave him a squeeze. "So what's up, Beej? You say you're not upset about seeing your ex get remarried, but here you are, off by yourself, looking forlorn."

"I look forlorn?"

"Pensive, at least."

B.J. shrugged. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?"

B.J. turned, putting both arms around Hawkeye and pulling him into an embrace, resting his head on Hawk's shoulder for a long moment. He was quiet until he pulled back to look into his lover's eyes, and then he confessed. "It was the kind of ceremony that made me wish… that made me very jealous… because you and I can't have one like it. I'll never be able to marry you. To stand in front of family and friends and declare my love for you, and my commitment to you. I would love to be able to do what Peg and Joe did today—"

"Beej," Hawkeye said, clearly touched. He put a hand on B.J.'s cheek and softly kissed his mouth. "We can do that. We can have our own little ceremony. It won't be legal, it won't be recognized, but that doesn't matter. We _can_ stand in front of family and friends and exchange vows. I'd love to do that."

B.J. squinted at him. "Men don't do that, Hawkeye. I mean, I've never known it to happen…"

"So we'll be trailblazers. If it's something you want, then it's something we can do."

B.J. smiled. Lord, he loved Hawkeye's "can do" attitude. No matter what B.J. wanted, Hawkeye always tried to make it happen. The man was determination personified.

But B.J. tended to be the voice of reason that balanced out his more impetuous partner. "I don't know, Hawk. Should we?"

Hawkeye grinned, his eyes getting that defiant look that B.J. knew all too well. "Why the hell not? Who's gonna stop us?" Then his expression suddenly shifted from devilish to tender as he took B.J.'s hand in his, kissed the palm, and said softly, "B.J. Hunnicutt, would you marry me?"

For some reason, hearing those words coming out of Hawkeye's mouth produced a very large lump in B.J.'s throat. He couldn't speak for a moment and tears welled in his eyes. It was silly, he supposed, seeing as no marriage between two men would ever be legitimate in the eyes of the public. Their relationship would still be every bit as secret as it was now.

Even so, the proposal was so… overwhelming.

When finally he could trust his voice, B.J. said, "Yes, I would love to marry you. I would love that very much."

They fell into each other's arms, holding on tight, laughing a little. Down below them on the sand, the wedding guests were still dancing, still sharing in the joy of the day, celebrating. As Hawkeye pulled out of the embrace, he tugged on B.J.'s hand and said, "I was hoping my man would like to join me for some dancing."

B.J. nodded, beaming at his betrothed. "Yeah," he said, "let's do that."

And they headed, hand in hand, down to the beach below.


	19. Rule Number One

**Rule Number One****  
**  
_(A response to the prompt "loss.")_

----

B.J. was holding the hand of Private Jenkins as the young soldier passed away. He continued to hold on even after the man's body went lifeless and his eyes became fixed. He called time of death, but then the nurses, sensing he needed a little more time with his patient, backed off.

Jenkins was only 19. B.J. knew because he'd asked him. Same age as Radar. The poor kid (and "kid" was exactly what he was, never mind what the U.S. Army thought) hadn't even had a chance to really live yet, and now he was gone. Just barely done with high school… hadn't found his mate… hadn't decided on a career path… hadn't experienced much of anything. Nineteen was just much too young.

B.J. tried to remember. What had he himself been doing at 19? College, of course. Driving a beat-up old Chevy that never seemed to want to start. Courting Peggy Hayden, already in love with her but years from proposing to her.

He'd been happy and carefree. Enjoying his youth. Certainly not fighting in a war. Certainly not putting his life on the line for his or anyone else's country.

B.J. didn't know how long he sat there at Jenkins' bedside, holding his lifeless hand, but eventually he managed to let go, carefully placing it palm-down on the young man's chest.

"Kellye?" he called, and he didn't need to say anything more. She knew what needed to be done next. They did it all too often.

His face was still tear-streaked when he stepped into the Swamp. His shoulders felt heavy… his brain muddled. Mercifully, Frank was gone (hopefully spending the night in Margaret's tent)… leaving him and Hawkeye alone. Exactly what B.J. needed.

He didn't have to say anything. Hawkeye, lying face up on his cot, just extended his hand out as if to say, _I know, come here, let me hold you… let me comfort you.__  
_  
B.J. took Hawkeye's hand… marveling for a moment at how warm it was, in stark contrast to the cold, stiff hand he'd held for so long in post-op. He allowed himself to be pulled onto the tiny cot… allowed himself to be spooned, to be consoled. He shut his eyes and felt Hawkeye's arms surround him, felt the breath of the man behind him, the weight of his concern.

"Thank you," he whispered. There was no need to elaborate.

Hawkeye planted a soft kiss on the side of his neck as a response.

B.J. shut his eyes and tried not to think about the appalling loss, about a 19-year-old kid being taken from this world, about the senselessness of the war.

And after a while, he was able to mute the pain and the feeling of helplessness, and concentrate only on Hawkeye… his steady breathing, his soothing embrace, his calming presence.

As B.J. drifted off to sleep, one of the last thoughts his exhausted brain processed was that his life in Korea had become something of a cycle. Every time the war tried to destroy his soul, Hawkeye was there to restore it.


	20. Stolen Moments

**Stolen Moments**

_(A response to the prompt "affection." Post-war story.)_

----

"Let's take the stairs," Hawkeye said, pulling B.J. by his sleeve toward the hospital's stairwell. B.J. followed without protest, figuring they were avoiding the elevator because it always took too damn long… a frequent Hawkeye complaint.

And it was in the stairwell, between floors 6 and 7 in fact, that B.J. found himself being halted by an insistent hand on his arm, then pushed against the wall, and then kissed passionately, while Hawkeye's hand burrowed under his lab coat and the shirt beneath. As Hawkeye's fingers finally found skin and his tongue gently slipped into B.J.'s mouth, B.J. simply surrendered with a thoroughly contented sigh.

This was one of the things he loved most about being with Hawkeye. The spontaneity. The unabashed affection. Making out in the stairwell… the heavy, suggestive stares during staff meetings… playing footsies under the table when they were out to dinner with other couples.

It never ceased to amaze B.J. how blatant Hawkeye could be… not that he minded. In truth, he reveled in it. Peg would have never allowed this kind of activity in the hospital; B.J. wasn't sure he could remember ever kissing her, even on the cheek, anywhere but in the privacy of their own home.

Out of breath, B.J. broke off the kiss gently. "You're insatiable," he said, stating the obvious.

Hawkeye grinned and shrugged. "A couple stolen moments in the stairwell. I won't keep you from your patients… _doctor_. But I had this desperate need for a taste of Hunnicutt."

B.J. groaned at the bad pun, but in truth, it produced a warm glow in his belly. Sweet talk from the master. Even after all this time, B.J. still couldn't quite believe he was the former Casanova's one true love. The person he'd decided to settle down with. The one who got to have Hawkeye Pierce forever.

He leaned forward for another kiss (or several), but they were interrupted when the door a couple of floors below banged open. Somebody _else_ was actually using the stairs? They looked at each other and grudgingly moved apart.

With matching sighs, they continued up toward the 7th floor, Hawkeye saying, "And so I guess I'm going to have to take out Mrs. Harris's appendix after all," which wasn't even a fabricated conversation, just a continuation of one they'd started a few minutes before.

"When? Tomorrow morning?" B.J. asked.

"Actually, I think I'd better do it tonight." They stopped on the 7th floor landing and waited while Dr. Porter (well-known for being a workout fanatic, which probably explained why he was taking the stairs) passed them on his way up to 8. The three of them nodded instead of exchanging hellos.

Hawkeye waited until the sound of the door indicated that Porter was no longer in the stairwell. "Sorry, Beej. I'm going to have to stay late to do this surgery. I know I promised to take you out tonight… dinner at the Top of the Mark… I hate to cancel."

B.J. shook his head. "Mrs. Harris's appendectomy is more important. We'll reschedule our dinner out. Don't worry about it."

Now that the coast was clear again, Hawkeye took the opportunity to sneak one more kiss. He made it worthwhile. B.J. just barely managed to refrain from moaning. He felt an absurd sense of loss when Hawkeye stepped away. "Don't know when I'll be home, but wait up for me..?"

B.J. smiled broadly. "You bet."

Then Hawkeye opened the door and they walked out into the 7th floor corridor, shifting gears, getting back into doctor mode… but before they went their separate ways, Hawkeye grabbed hold of B.J.'s hand briefly and squeezed. Their eyes connected, and Hawkeye smiled, and B.J. was pretty sure he floated down the hallway to his next patient.


	21. When I Wasn't Looking

**When I Wasn't Looking**

_(A response to the prompt "writing.")_

_----_

B.J. was apparently so immersed in whatever he was writing on his notepad that he didn't even hear Hawkeye come into the Swamp.

Hawkeye stepped closer, decided to be nosey, and craned his neck to look over B.J.'s shoulder. Probably just a letter to his wife, he supposed. Same ol', same ol'… miss you, love you, blah blah blah.

The only part he managed to see was the beginning: _When I wasn't looking…_

Suddenly aware that Hawkeye was there, B.J. snapped his head up. "Hawk?" He also immediately put his hand over the notepad, covering his words.

Hawkeye smiled down at him. "You writing a poem or something?" For all the world, that's what it had looked like. "I didn't know you did that."

B.J. colored a little. "It's not a poem," he said, closing the notepad and putting it aside. "It's nothing."

"Oh. Well if you _were_ writing something like that—a poem, _anything_ creative—I'd love to read it. There's not enough reading material around here… but I don't have to tell you that."

B.J. just shrugged it off. "Nope, nothing creative, sorry." He stood and grabbed his bathrobe. "What do ya say, Hawk… shower?"

Hawkeye nodded and picked up his own ratty red bathrobe, but his mind was still on whatever it was that B.J. had been so desperate to hide from him.

Lord, but he didn't like secrets.

Later, after the shower followed by some coffee in the mess tent, he snuck back to the Swamp while B.J. headed to post-op. He'd seen where B.J. had tucked away his notepad, and he pulled it out now, feeling ashamed of himself for his snoopiness… but not so much that he was going to actually _stop_ snooping.

As he read what his best friend had written, his mouth went dry and his heart began to pound. Of all the things he thought he might learn, this was certainly not one of them.

_When I wasn't looking… _

…_I fell in love. In a foreign land, in the middle of a war. When I least expected it, I found myself feeling something that I never would have imagined feeling. I've changed so much over here, I almost don't recognize myself anymore. But probably the biggest change of all… the craziest thing that's ever happened to me… I've fallen in love with my best friend._

_Deny or accept, confess or stay quiet… the questions swirl in my head every day and night. What's to be gained by saying something? What's to be lost?_

_I love you, Hawkeye. So easy to say. Impossible to say._

_Everything would change. Everything already has._

That must've been when Hawkeye came along and interrupted his tentmate's stream-of-consciousness writing. Now Hawkeye read it a second time, slower, trying to make sense of it… his hands shaking now, and his legs feeling weak.

He was just about done re-reading it when the Swamp door opened and he turned sharply to see B.J. standing there, a shy smile on his face. "I know you like the back of my hand, Hawkeye Pierce," he said softly. "I knew you would come back here and sneak a peek at what I was writing."

Hawkeye couldn't speak, couldn't defend himself or ask questions or even make a joke. He only stood there, dumbly staring at his friend.

"But that's OK," B.J. continued. "This is good, because now you know. It's such a relief, Hawkeye, that you finally know."

Hawkeye swallowed hard and put the notepad down on B.J.'s cot. "Beej, I had no idea."

B.J. tilted his head to one side, studying Hawkeye's face. "But is it good news… or bad?"

Hawkeye's mouth curved into a smile and he walked to B.J. "We have a lot to talk about, Beej. But I would say this is the best news I've gotten in a very, very long time."

And he pulled B.J. into his arms, holding on tight and thinking, _When I wasn't looking, my entire life changed. For the better. _


	22. Shake Break

**Shake Break**

_(A response to the prompt "flirting." Post-war story.)_

_----_

They walked into the diner and sat down at their usual table. Hawkeye was barely settled in when the waitress appeared, bubbly and eager, note pad at the ready. B.J. asked for two milk shakes without even checking with Hawkeye if that's what he wanted, or what flavor.

Didn't matter, Hawkeye acknowledged to himself. He did want a shake, and B.J. always knew what flavor he wanted.

Nevertheless, he was annoyed right now, so he said, "I can order my own shake, Beej, thank you very much."

B.J., who'd been watching the waitress walk away to fill their order, turned sharply to look at Hawkeye. There was surprise in his tone as he said, "Sorry, Hawk. You always want a chocolate shake at 2:15 on Wednesday afternoon. I didn't think today would be any different."

Hawkeye wasn't irked that B.J. had taken it upon himself to order for him. No, the problem was that he knew why B.J. liked coming to this particular diner so much. Why he always steered them here, despite the fact that they had several different diners they could choose from for their mid-afternoon break from the hospital.

_This_ diner, because of _that_ waitress. Sandy. She always flirted with B.J., and Hawkeye could tell he loved it. He seemed to revel in it.

B.J. was watching him closely now, and he said, "Do you want me to call the waitress back so you can change your order?"

Hawkeye sighed and waved a hand. "No, no. Chocolate's fine, Beej. Sorry."

When Sandy brought the milk shakes, she smiled sweetly at B.J., showing off a pair of perfect dimples, and said, "Here you go, Doctor."

She almost never seemed to notice that Hawkeye was sitting at the table too.

"Thanks, Sandy," B.J. said with a bright smile, and Hawkeye actually rolled his eyes. This was too much.

Sandy giggled and strolled away, and B.J. dipped his straw into the thick shake, looking at Hawkeye over the tall glass. "OK, what's up? I saw that look on your face."

"What look?" All innocence… except that never worked with B.J.

"You know what look. You don't like Sandy, do you? What has that poor girl ever done to you?"

To stall, Hawkeye took a long sip of his milk shake. It was too long a sip… he got an ice-cream headache, and he put a palm to his forehead. "Ow!"

"Don't drink so fast," B.J. cautioned.

"Well thank you very much, Doctor. I don't know what I'd do without you."

B.J. leaned back in his seat. "OK, what exactly is eating you, Hawk? You're awfully crabby all of a sudden."

Hawkeye opened his mouth and out came: "You've never told her you're taken."

B.J. blinked at him, not saying anything for a long moment, then finally squinting and asking, "Who? Who am I supposed to tell that to?"

Hawkeye gestured in the general direction of Sandy the waitress. "Her. Your _friend_ who flirts with you relentlessly every time we come in here."

B.J. laughed briefly… but then apparently realized that Hawkeye was being quite serious, because he abruptly stopped. "Sandy? Flirting?"

Hawkeye couldn't believe his ears. Was his partner really _this_ naïve? "Yes, of course she flirts with you. Are you trying to tell me you haven't noticed?"

B.J. glanced in her direction, shrugging. "I just thought she was friendly. I was only being friendly back. I'm sorry if that's been bothering you, Hawk. You should have said something before."

Hawkeye looked down into his milk shake, starting to feel a bit silly. Was he overreacting? It certainly did seem that B.J. had been oblivious to Sandy's flirting until Hawkeye brought it up.

That Hunnicutt, he never suspected anyone of doing anything improper. He was too squeaky clean for his own good.

"Would you like me to call her back over here and declare that you and I are a couple?" B.J. asked now, and he was smirking in that annoying way of his. "Or maybe you'd like me to stand up and address the entire diner. Or wait—better yet, maybe I should take out an ad in the San Francisco Examiner…"

Hawkeye was not amused. "Asshole," he said succinctly.

B.J. reached out and grabbed hold of Hawkeye's hand, running his thumb over a couple of the fingers. "You surprise me sometimes, Hawk. I can't even be friendly with a waitress I know nothing about aside from her name, and meanwhile, you're allowed to flirt to your heart's content—"

"I don't flirt! Not anymore, I mean. I stopped after you and I… you know…"

"Hawkeye Pierce, you most definitely _do_ flirt with women, and that's OK. It's who you are. It's so ingrained in you that you don't even notice you're doing it. But like I said, I'm all right with it. It doesn't make me jealous."

"It doesn't?" Hawkeye was studying him, unsure if he should be offended or not. "Why not?"

B.J. squeezed the hand he was holding. "Because I'm still the one you go home with at the end of the day, that's why."

And Hawkeye smiled, because that was so very Hunnicutt-esque. No jealousy, no paranoia, no pretense. B.J. was all about trust and honesty and being real.

Hawkeye made a mental note: _Be more like B.J._

Now _there_ was a tall order.

Still smiling at his mate across the table, he said, "I love you, y'know that?"

"I know." Punctuated with an "aw shucks" shrug and a toothy grin.

Sandy came by then, putting their check on the table. "Are the milk shakes all right, Dr. Hunnicutt?"

B.J. looked up at her and nodded. "My boyfriend and I are enjoying them very much, Sandy. Thanks."

She walked away with an odd expression on her face, and B.J. gave Hawkeye a wink as they went back to sipping their shakes.


	23. English Assignment

**English Assignment**

_(A response to the prompt, "Have I told you that I'm proud you're my…?" Post-war story.)_

----

"Hawk! Come on in here and sit down. Erin's going to read us her oral report from English class."

Hawkeye came in from the kitchen and took a seat next to B.J. on the couch. "You did an oral report, Erin?"

"Everybody had to do one called 'The Person I Admire Most,'" she said, standing there holding her essay in her hands. "I was scared… I don't like getting up in front of the class. But that was part of the assignment. Not just writing it but also reading it."

Hawkeye nodded. "Your teacher's very smart, then. There are times in life when you have to get up in front of people, whether you like it or not. It's a good lesson to learn. So," he said, rubbing his hands together, "let me guess. You wrote about your daddy, right?"

She shook her head and kind of waved the paper in their direction. "Nope. I had to change the title of the assignment to 'The _People_ I Admire Most.'"

B.J. and Hawkeye exchanged looks. "Let's hear it, Erin," B.J. prompted.

She cleared her throat and began to read from the essay. "The People I Admire Most, by Erin Hunnicutt. I'm sorry, Mr. Kayser—that's my teacher's name," she told them as an aside, "—but I had to change the title of this assignment because there are two of them: my dads. It really wouldn't be fair of me to pick just one to write about, even though one of my dads is my biological father and the other isn't. That doesn't matter to me, though, because I can't remember a time when I didn't have both of them in my life.

"My biological dad is B.J. Hunnicutt and my other dad is Hawkeye Pierce. They served together as surgeons in the Korean War, which is where they met. They saved a lot of lives during the war. Sometimes they talk about the work they did there, but usually when they talk about Korea, it's more about the other doctors and nurses and people that they served with. There was this one guy, for example, who wore women's clothing because he was trying to convince people he was too crazy for the Army. My dads said that was one of the oldest tricks in the book, but they thought it was funny anyway.

"For years, my dads have been working at the same hospital in San Francisco, and they still save a lot of lives, even though I'm sure it's very different from fixing up soldiers in the middle of a war. They sometimes talk about their patients over dinner, and I can tell by listening to them how much they care. They take the time to get to know each patient and his or her family.

"Maybe the thing I love most about them is how they treat me. They never talk down to me and they always take the time to explain things to me, but on a grown-up level. When I do something wrong, something that makes them angry, they sit me down and tell me why I shouldn't have done it. We have this thing we do once a week, they call it 'Speak Your Mind.' We sit around the table and each one of us says exactly what's on our mind. It can be something that's annoying us about one of the others, or it can be something like, 'Thank you, Hawkeye, for doing the laundry this weekend, even though it was really my turn to do it.' Stuff like that. We just sit there until each person has said everything they wanted to say. Sometimes it gets silly and we sit there laughing so hard we cry."

Another exchange of looks between Hawkeye and B.J. "Wow, these people sound really nice," Hawkeye quipped.

"Shhh!" his partner admonished.

Erin ignored them and barreled along. "There are about a million reasons why I admire my dads, but this essay is already longer than it's supposed to be, isn't it? Sorry, I guess I get carried away when I talk about them. They help me with my homework and with any problems I have, and they always encourage me and tell me that I'm smart and capable. Most of all, they make me laugh. I love them both very much."

She finally lifted her eyes from the paper and looked at her folks, who were beaming back at her. "Uh, that's the end," she said, blushing a little, probably just as she had upon finishing the reading in class. "And Mr. Kayser said it was very good. We won't know our grades until tomorrow, though. Oh! And then as I was sitting back down, Brian Scholl opened his big, fat mouth and said that it's a sin for two men to be a couple. And I said, how can love be a sin?"

B.J. drew in a shaky breath, glancing at Hawkeye on his left. They both had tears in their eyes.

After a moment, B.J. said, "Erin, have I told you lately that I'm proud you're my daughter?" And he went to her and embraced her, holding tight. A second later, Hawkeye was there joining the hug, the three of them laughing at the awkwardness of it.

"That was an outstanding essay, Erin, and what you said to Brian Scholl was beautiful," Hawkeye said, his voice a little muffled by B.J.'s shoulder. "I'm proud of you, too."

Finally Erin gently broke free from her dads and stepped back, her essay crinkled in her hands. "OK, that's enough of the schmaltzy stuff!" she said, giggling.

Hawkeye smacked B.J. on the arm and rolled his eyes, "Yeah, enough with the schmaltz, Beej! Sheesh!"

B.J. laughed, looking at them both with boundless love and affection. "Well OK, how about this idea, then? Let's go out for ice cream, my treat!"

"Hooray!" Erin yelled.

"Hooray!" Hawkeye echoed.

"I call shotgun!" Erin squealed as she burst out the door.

"Damn," Hawkeye said, "foiled again."

B.J. curled his arm around his waist, and they followed their daughter out.


	24. Final Words

**Final Words**

_(A response to __the prompt "letter." Very post-war.)_

**----  
**  
There's a note from Erin taped to the envelope. It says, _My father made me promise to mail this to you. __  
_  
Hawkeye tears open the envelope, begins to read, and drops into the kitchen chair without thought. From the opening sentence, the letter burrows into his heart, turning ache into agony.

_Dear Hawkeye,__  
__  
__I'm sorry if this is painful for you to read, but the truth is, I never stopped loving you. Here I am, a man of 73, a father and grandfather who recently celebrated 48 years of marriage, and I need to confess the truth to you. My body is riddled with cancer. I know it's only a matter of days now, Hawkeye. I may be writing this with a weak hand, with barely enough energy to dot my I's and cross my T's, but I need to do this. I need you to know.__  
__  
__Well, you did know, actually… back in 1953. I told you while we were still in Korea, and your response, as I'm sure you remember, was to tell me, in so many words, tough shit. I fell in love with you? Well too bad, you said. I didn't think I was going to be able to get over you? Well I was just going to have to, you advised, because you were giving me no other choice.__  
__  
__Oh, you were a bastard, Hawkeye Pierce. How deep those words cut. You hurt me so much, and then you told me it was for my own good.__  
__  
__"You have a wife and a daughter—a goddamn __beautiful__ family—and you are __not__ messing that up, B.J. Hunnicutt." That's in quote marks because I happen to know that it's truly an exact quote.__  
__  
__I remember, you see, the precise time, place, and words spoken when my heart shattered.__  
__  
__You turned me away, and what else could I do? I went home after the war, back to my old life. Back to Mill Valley and my goddamn beautiful family, and I've spent the rest of my days with them. With Peg and Erin, and many years later, Erin's husband Dan, followed by their four wonderful children. __  
__  
__Storybook, you would have said. A fairy-tale kind of life.__  
__  
__Except for one thing, Hawkeye. I never loved anyone as much as I loved you. __  
__  
__What can I say, Hawk. A man gets to the end of his life and he watches death inching toward him and he thinks: you know what, it's truth time. No more bullshit, no more pretense. I'll be gone in a few days, I know that as sure as I know you're rubbing your forehead as you read this, and this right here… this is my truth time.__  
__  
__I fell in love with you in Korea, decades ago. And I never fell out of love with you.__  
__  
__I just wanted you to know that.__  
__  
__Goodbye. (See? I learned how to say it.)__  
_  
Numb and long past tears, Hawkeye drops the letter onto the kitchen table. After a moment, he gets up to pour himself a drink.

Much later—hours later in fact—he tosses the sheet of paper into the fireplace, where in no time at all, it's consumed by flames and reduced to ash.


	25. All That's Left

**All That's Left****  
**  
_(A response to the prompt "dancing." Post-war story.)_

----

You close your eyes because it's easier to see that way.

It's like a fever dream. It pulls you in and drains you… takes you away and leaves you wanting, wishing, _needing_. It's all you have anymore.

But when it comes, it's like the _thump_ of hand on chest as CPR is administered. It's like sweet rescue.

A smile spreads slowly on your face as you picture him… across a crowded room… all the other people around you fade into the background until the only thing you see is him. Him and that dazzling smile of his.

He's dancing with his wife and he looks happy, he looks content, but you know better. You approach him slowly… you seem to be gliding along, you're moving as if being pulled into his orbit… as if there's no other choice. He's been looking at his wife as they dance but now his eyes look up… he's searching… he knows you're near.

Finally his eyes find you, they're drawn to you, and as they settle on you, he doesn't just smile… he _glows_. You feel shy, somehow… coy… you feel lightheaded under his gaze. He gently steps away from his wife, who looks confused but perhaps resigned. You step toward him and he toward you… and now there's not a soul around anymore, or if there is, you're completely unaware.

You close in on each other, your breath picking up, your heart beginning to pound. When you finally reach him, you move into his arms as if it's where you've belonged your whole life.

And it is.

The two of you begin to sway to the music, your head against his, your hand in his, your bodies brushing. You dance and you dance and you dance, but it feels more like a trance. You're back in his arms, and it's just as intoxicating as it always was.

You remember his hands on you… his mouth… his growls of passion… his taste. You remember long, cold nights in Korea spent coiled around him, taking his warmth. You remember that he saved you more times than you could count. He was your true north, you would've been hopelessly lost if not for him.

He was your light during the worst darkness of your life.

He's still your light.

And you dance.

You close your eyes and inhale his scent and you don't need to say anything because he already knows. He always has.

He's strong and solid in your arms and his hand caresses your back and your heart flutters at his touch.

"I always knew it would be this way," he says, his voice soft at your ear. "I always knew this was how it would end up."

You murmur a yes, because yes, it is supposed to be like this… yes, it was destined... Hawk and Beej. Together.

And he spins you around, his eyes blazing and his smile growing as the music gets louder. You lose yourself to the moment… it's a drunkenness without drink... a floating, a high.

But the high doesn't last. Slowly you realize something's wrong. As you spin, he begins to fade away, as all the others around you had. You feel something like panic rising inside you. He fades but you try to cling to him, you grasp, you pull and _beg_ him to stay.

It does no good. Like a vapor, he's gone. He's dissipated… vanished… and yet you still spin.

When you come to a stop, reality sets in. Empty arms, empty heart. You have nothing.

All that's left are the dreams.


	26. Day One

**Day One**

_(A response to the prompt "worry." Post-war story.)_

----

Hawkeye reaches into the back seat and Erin puts her little hand in his. He helps her out of the car and holds her at arm's length, then twirls her, giving a whistle. "You look so pretty for your first day of school!" he gushes. He glances over at B.J., who's watching them and grinning. "Doesn't she, Daddy?"

"She looks radiant," B.J. says and he kneels down so he can pull her into a hug. "You be good, all right, Erin? Hawkeye and I will be back after school is over to pick you up. We'll be right here… same place… got it?"

She nods. "OK, Daddy."

"OK, young miss. Give Hawkeye a kiss goodbye, then off you go."

She kisses both her dads on the cheek, then she dashes off with her schoolbag clutched tightly in her hand, and disappears into the building.

B.J. turns to face Hawkeye, and he can't help it, there's a lump in his throat. Hawkeye nods understanding. He takes B.J.'s hand and squeezes it. "She's going to be just fine, Beej."

They get back into the car and drive home. Their daughter's first day of kindergarten, so they'd both taken the day off work, and now the next four hours are bound to stretch out for all eternity as they worry and wait and wonder.

"Do you think she's having a good time?" B.J. asks at 9:00.

"I'm sure she is, Beej."

"Do you think she's making friends?" B.J. asks at 9:45.

"Beej, she's doing fine. She's a bubbly little thing. Everyone will love her."

"Do you think she's scared?" B.J. wonders at 10:10.

"She was nervous, but that's to be expected. After all, it's a big deal, the first day of school." Hawkeye slips an arm around B.J.'s waist and plants a kiss on his cheek. "But she's fine, I know it."

The phone rings at 10:30 and B.J. snatches it up. "Oh hi, Peg. Yes, she got off to school on time. Hawk and I dropped her off. Well, she seemed nervous but she was excited too. We told her she'd meet a lot of new people. I'm sure she's fine."

B.J.'s actually pacing the living room at 11:00. There's another hour and a half to go before school lets out. Hawkeye calmly walks up to him and takes his hand, tugging on it, leading him.

"Where we going?"

"You have an awful lot of nervous energy, Beej. You need to do something with it." He steers B.J. in the direction of the bedroom.

"You're taking me to bed at 11 in the morning?"

"B.J., you need _something_ to take your mind off your daughter's first day of kindergarten. Allow me to prescribe a soothing remedy for this stressful moment in your life." He tilts his head, looking cute and, frankly, irresistible.

And so B.J. doesn't resist. "Well, OK," he says, smiling. "Twist my arm, why don't you."

They close the bedroom door behind them, and it's a little weird, making love at 11 in the morning, but B.J. has to admit: it does effectively take his mind off Erin. Mission accomplished.

They emerge from the bedroom much later… so much later, in fact, that it's just about time to go fetch Erin. B.J. realizes he's put on Hawkeye's shirt and vice versa. "Hawkeye?" he says, looking down at his own chest.

"Hmmm?"

"We have to swap shirts." He gestures between them. "Erin will notice if we don't."

Hawkeye smirks. "And what? She'll realize that must mean we had ourselves a little tumble while she was off at school? I doubt that, Beej."

B.J. gives him the evil eye. "Humor me, all right?" They pull off their shirts and trade, which pacifies B.J.

Hawkeye grabs the keys and they take off in the car, sharing a companionable silence on the way. Once at the school, they park at the curb and raptly watch the doors of the school, waiting for them to open and release the children.

At precisely 12:31, those doors do in fact open, and Erin is one of the first kids to amble on out. At her side is an apparently new friend, some cute little blonde girl in a bright yellow dress with a matching bow in her hair. Erin looks up and sees her dads waiting at the curb, and she waves goodbye to her new friend and runs up to them.

"Daddy! Hawkeye! School was so much _fun_!" She opens the back door and climbs into the car and thrusts a large piece of construction paper at B.J. "See what I drew? It's a cat!"

B.J. oohs and ahhs over the picture. "Well of course it's a cat. Anyone can see that. It's great, honey." He hands it to Hawkeye. "Isn't that a terrific picture, Hawk?"

Hawkeye studies it and then turns to Erin. "This is excellent, Erin! You're going to grow up to be an artist, I can tell." He hands it back to her, and she's beaming.

Hawkeye starts the car and pulls away from the curb, starting toward home. B.J. twists around in his seat to look at his daughter. "So what else did you do today? Tell us everything. We were hoping you were having a good time. And your mommy called. She'll want to talk to you, too, when we get home."

Erin's kicking the back of B.J.'s seat absent-mindedly, she's so wound up. "Oh we did a lot, Daddy! We sang some songs, and we went outside to play for a little while, and the teacher read us a story…"

B.J. listens to her, looking back and forth from her shining face to Hawkeye's, thinking, _Damn, our little girl is growing up… her childhood's going by in a blink…_

And in that instant, he's hit with a truly inspired idea. An addition to the family! Maybe a boy this time. A little brother for Erin. Somebody to play ball with. Somebody to fix up motorcycles with.

His smile grows as Erin rambles on, and he wonders if he knows anyone at the hospital who could help them cut through the red tape of adoption…


	27. In Danger

**In Danger****  
**

_(A response to the prompt "danger.")_

_----_

"It's not safe!" B.J. yells at him, panic clutching his insides and squeezing. "Hawkeye! Stop!"

B.J. considers, for a fraction of a second, running after him, but he knows he can't. That would be insanity.

He looks again at the sign to his right, the skull and crossbones, the words: _Danger! Minefield!__  
_  
"Hawkeye!" he screams so loud that his throat will probably hurt for days. "Stop!"

Helpless, he can only watch as Hawkeye pays no heed and continues on. He has no idea what caused Hawkeye to run into the field in the first place; it's not as if he's chasing someone or trying to save someone… there's not another soul around. It's sheer lunacy, which of course is almost normal for Hawkeye Pierce, but he's never done anything quite like this before.

B.J.'s trying to figure out what magic words to say to get his friend to finally stop and come back (and hopefully all in one piece) when an explosion rips through the air. He flinches, covering his head out of pure instinct. There's so much debris that B.J. can't see anything for a second, but then the smoke clears and he can see all too well. Hawkeye's lying face down in the field… and one of his arms is four feet away from his torso… and one of his legs is a good six feet away from that…

And B.J. screams and screams and screams…

He jolts awake and for a second he's close to screaming again—for real. But he bites back any sound before it can escape his mouth, and that's a good thing. He wouldn't want to wake Hawkeye up just because of a horrible nightmare…

And yes, that's all it was… a horrible nightmare. His heart is pounding and adrenaline has flooded his body, but he realizes with enormous relief that it was just a vivid, painfully realistic dream. Hawkeye (in one piece and very much alive) is lying in his arms, asleep, peaceful.

_He's all right… he's all right…__  
_  
B.J. wills his heart to slow down. He pulls Hawkeye closer and shuts his eyes and waits for the terror to subside. Waits for the images in his mind to fade, for calm to return.

_He's all right… _

Hawkeye stirs in his arms then, roused by B.J.'s restlessness. B.J. puts his mouth to Hawk's ear, whispering, "It's OK… just a bad dream. Go back to sleep. I love you."  
_  
_His breath catches and his eyes snap back open as he realizes it's the first time he's said those words.

Seems he has wandered into some pretty dangerous territory himself.


	28. Inquiring Minds

**Inquiring Minds**

_(A response to the prompt "parent/child.")_

_----_

Hawkeye lustfully watches as a naked B.J. rolls out of bed and pads across the room to the table, digging into the box of cookies they'd bought when they were out on the Ginza earlier. He grabs one for himself and raises his eyebrows at Hawkeye, asking the question without actually speaking. Hawkeye nods, so B.J. grabs a cookie for him too and heads back to bed. Hawkeye lets out a low whistle as he runs his eyes over B.J.'s body.

B.J. hands the cookie to Hawkeye, but gives him the evil eye at the same time. "Stop objectifying me," he scolds.

Hawkeye bites into the cookie and then talks around his own chewing. "Stop walking around bare-ass naked and maybe then I'll stop objectifying you."

B.J. laughs, clearly not offended… probably, in fact, flattered. For a moment they eat in companionable silence. B.J. is propped on an elbow at Hawkeye's side, and suddenly he leans over and licks some cookie crumbs off Hawkeye's chest. He looks up at Hawk with a coy smile as Hawkeye runs his fingers through B.J.'s soft hair. Out of the blue, B.J. says, "Tell me somethin', Hawk. Would your mother approve of this?"

Hawkeye's thrown by the non sequitur, and he blinks. "What? Eating cookies in bed? Probably not."

B.J. shakes his head, finishing off his cookie and then—as Hawkeye watches, transfixed—licking his fingers. "No, I mean… would she approve of _us_? You and me?"

Hawkeye has to actually think about that. He takes the last bite of his own cookie, mulling over the question as he does. "I don't know, Beej. I was only 10 when she died. It was a long time ago." B.J. kisses him softly on the corner of the mouth, apparently as an apology for stirring up sad memories, but Hawkeye's not ready to be distracted yet. Now that the question's been asked, he wants to give it some consideration. "I remember her as being an open-minded woman. She wasn't judgmental. And she loved me unconditionally. Yeah, I think she would be all right with this… with what you and I have. She was a firm believer in love." He looks directly into B.J.'s eyes now, and smiles. "I know one thing for sure. She would like _you_. A lot."

B.J. cocks his head. "She would?" He sounds surprised for some reason.

"I know she would. She loved people who would go out of their way to help others. She'd adore your good heart, B.J. Hunnicutt. Just like I do."

B.J. pulls Hawkeye closer, kissing first his cheek and then his mouth. He tastes like the cookie he's just eaten. "I would've liked her, too," B.J. says, licking Hawkeye's lower lip.

There's some more kissing… light but fervent… a slow rekindling of passion. There's no rush. They have all night. But then Hawkeye pulls back just a bit, and puts his palm on B.J.'s cheek, looking again into his eyes. "Why," he wonders, "did you ask about my mom?"

B.J. returns Hawkeye's intense gaze, saying simply, "I want to know all about her. I want to know about _all_ the people in your life."

Hawkeye laughs softly, but he's touched. He kisses the tip of B.J.'s nose, then grins and launches into storytelling mode. "My dad was born in Crabapple Cove, Maine, on June 16th, 1890…"

B.J. puts his hand over Hawkeye's mouth, cutting him off. "_Later_, Hawk. Right now, we have more pressing business." And then he goes about showing Hawkeye exactly what he means.


	29. Milestone

**Milestone**

_(A response to the prompt "surprise." Post-war story.)_

_----_

B.J. quietly ambled through the room, a perpetual smile on his face, absently listening to the conversations taking place around him. The room was packed (had he even considered how small their living room was before he'd sent out the invitations?), but everyone seemed to be having a good time. There was plenty of happy chatter, the occasional burst of laughter, soft music playing in the background, drinks in every hand. Directly overhead was a huge black banner suspended from the ceiling declaring "Over the Hill." The cake on the table sported a blue-frosting drawing of a tombstone with the words "One foot in the grave."

Hawkeye, the birthday boy, was turning 40 tomorrow. B.J. looked over at him, across the room, talking with a couple of their neighbors, and he smiled. Naturally, Hawkeye was laughing and gesturing and pretty much being the life of the party. _That,_ B.J. thought, _is a happy man._

He continued his leisurely stroll, taking a visual inventory to make sure that everyone was all right, drinking and nibbling as any host would hope. As he passed a trio of their colleagues from the hospital, one of them, Matt, stopped him and said, "Great party, B.J. Do you think he was really surprised?"

B.J. smiled broadly. "Oh hell no," he replied honestly. "Tomorrow's his birthday… there's no way in hell I surprised him with this. Now, as for next month…?"

One of the other doctors, Gordon, leaned forward. "Next month? What, you're throwing him a second party?"

B.J. lowered his voice a bit, even though Hawkeye was still across the room. "Yeah, a second party… and that one's gonna be the _real_ surprise. We're going to New York, where he _thinks_ it's just gonna be me and him and a weekend of debauchery in the Big Apple, but actually… a bunch of our former campmates from Korea are meeting us there for part two of the celebration. Now _that_ oughtta knock him for a loop."

The four of them shared a laugh, and then the third member of the trio, Bill, a recent hire at the hospital, spoke up, "He's only 40? I had no idea. I would've guessed he's older than that. With the, you know… that gray hair."

B.J. again looked over at Hawkeye, then back at Bill. He shrugged and said, a little defensive on behalf of his partner, "Well, if you'd gone through what he went through, you'd be gray too." That might have sounded a bit too gruff, so B.J. flashed a warm smile and added, "Besides, I think his gray hair is very sexy."

He excused himself from that particular conversation and resumed his circuit of the room, checking every now and then to see if someone wanted their drink freshened or more snacks. It wasn't a demanding bunch; everyone seemed perfectly happy to just mingle.

Once he felt that he could safely give his hosting duties a rest, he wandered over to where Hawkeye was still chatting with their neighbors Dave and Missy. These were the only neighbors they were friendly with; most of the block shunned them, appalled by the idea of two men not only living together but being so open about it.

"Dave and Missy," he said with a genuine grin, "so glad you could come." He curled his arm around Hawkeye's waist. There was no one at this party who didn't know they were a couple; that'd been a prerequisite in B.J.'s head as he'd written out the invitations.

"We wouldn't have missed it," Missy said. "Although Hawkeye just confessed he wasn't at all surprised…"

Hawkeye gave B.J. a sheepish look and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Sorry, Beej, but it's true. You're lousy at keeping secrets."

B.J. gave all of them an "aw well, what are ya gonna do?" look. "I tried," he said. "I suppose I shouldn't have thrown the party the night before your actual birthday. That was my first mistake."

"Of many," Hawkeye added, but B.J. didn't mind. He hadn't tried all that hard to keep this one a secret. It was sort of just a dress rehearsal anyway…

"Well, surprise or not, it's the best party we've had in years."

"Absolutely," Hawkeye agreed, his eyes scanning the room. "Even if you did go with the obnoxious 'Over the Hill' theme."

B.J. laughed. "The big 4-0, Hawk. C'mon, that's huge. Pretty significant milestone." He was looking into his lover's eyes, getting a little lost in them, and neither of them noticed as Dave and Missy excused themselves and moved away, becoming caught up in conversation with some other partygoers. It was just Hawk and Beej now, arms slung around one another, staring at each other… as they so often did.

"Well I don't feel over the hill at all," Hawkeye said. "Still feel young… energetic… healthy… happy. Especially happy."

For a second, every other person in the room faded away as B.J. gazed at his partner, realizing again (as he did on a daily basis) how much he loved this man. How utterly perfect they were for each other. The word chemistry didn't do them justice. What they had was beyond chemistry… beyond, in fact, any word ever invented.

"And I don't care how old you are," B.J. replied when he found his voice, "forty or eighty or four hundred. Over the hill or over the dale. You're still sexy and handsome, and I love you very much."

There was a gleam in Hawk's eyes as he leaned close, first giving B.J. another kiss on the cheek and then whispering into his ear, "How soon can we get all these people the hell out of here?"

B.J. laughed, checking his watch. "Only 9:30, Hawk. I don't think we can break it up this early. People would get suspicious." He returned Hawkeye's kiss with one on the mouth, brief but suggestive… loaded with promise. "But hold that thought. After all, you're the birthday boy. Tonight you get whatever you wish for."

Now it was Hawkeye's turn to laugh. Just before he and B.J. turned to begin mingling with their guests again, he said, "And oh boy, do I have wishes!"

That sent a tingling through B.J. that he recognized all too well. A sweet mixture of anticipation and warmth… delight and desire. As the two of them walked arm-in-arm underneath the black "Over the Hill" banner, B.J. thought, _Another hour…_ _that ought to do it…_

After all, the birthday boy deserved to have his wishes granted.


	30. Bruised

**Bruised**

_(A response to the prompt "sore." Takes place during the episode "Period of Adjustment." More of a friendship fic, or pre-slash, than slash.)  
_

----

Hawkeye gently touches a finger to the shiner beneath his eye and winces. Man, that's gonna be sore for a while.

He's pretty sore figuratively speaking as well. He's not a violent man; he can count on one hand the number of times he's gotten into physical altercations. It's just not his style. But this time—well, this time he was sucker punched, for no good reason, and he's pretty pissed about it. His best friend yet…

He takes a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control, get some perspective. Trying, for a change, to think of the other person first and not himself.

No, Hawkeye didn't do anything to justify being slugged in the face like that… but he forces himself to look at the bigger picture. And the bigger picture is that B.J. is obviously not himself, to have done what he did. Hawkeye hadn't realized just how much that letter from Peg had upset Beej. He hadn't understood its impact.

Well, now he understands, that's for sure. He looks around the Swamp, at the destruction. Their poor still, smashed to pieces. Glass everywhere. This was clearly the work of a troubled young man.

His heart goes out to B.J., at the way his life has been shattered, just like that still. He'd been pulled from the warmth of his family, from a life filled with promise as an up-and-coming doctor, and thrust into this godforsaken war. Far from home, far from a normal life.

They're all going through their own personal hells, it's true, but Hawkeye feels protective of B.J., as if he's somehow responsible for the man's well-being and peace of mind. He always strives to be a supportive and understanding friend, a source of comfort, but sometimes he doesn't do a very good job.

Once again he touches the tender skin below his eye where he'd been hit.

Fists to the face hurt. Words hurt. But seeing B.J. in so much pain is what hurts the most.

Suddenly there's a knock on the door of the Swamp, followed by Margaret's voice: "Pierce, our runaways have turned up. B.J.'s in the Colonel's office."

Hawkeye grabs his helmet and heads on over there. He's a doctor, after all. Time to start alleviating the pain.


	31. From the Book of Daniel

**From the Book of Daniel**

_(A response to the challenge: the pairing from another person's POV. Post-war story.)_

-----

I've never seen him like this. The bounce in his step, the look on his face. It's as if he's… well, I don't know if I can even finish that thought.

I have to confess, I've often wondered why he hasn't settled down yet. There've been girls, a lot of them actually. A few of them he even seemed to be serious about. He lived with one, a nice gal named Carlye… he told me he loved her, but they couldn't make the relationship work.

Yeah, I often wondered. Myself, I was married in my early 20s. Times were different back then, I realize. Folks don't marry quite so young anymore. But Hawkeye… I always thought he was the marrying type. I always assumed he'd have a family started before he reached 30. I know his being drafted put his life on hold a little; I can understand that.

But then he came back home, a little worse for wear, of course, a little more jaded, and a lot grayer. I thought maybe the experience he'd just had would make him _want_ to settle down. I thought he might get a little more serious about life. But he still seemed as free and easy as ever. He dated, sure, but he was still playing the field… still reluctant to find commitment and stability.

Was I worried? Well, yes and no. I didn't want him to feel pressured into anything. Some people do take their time finding their mate. I just want him to be happy, in the end.

Happy? That's where you come in, I suppose. Oh, I saw happiness like I've never seen on his face, when you came to visit. The light in his eyes, the sheer joy in his smile.

It's love, isn't it? My son loves you. And there I go, putting it into words. I should've known, actually. He talks about you constantly, B.J. this and B.J. that, and there's always something there, in between the lines, something he's not saying.

Is the feeling mutual? Do you love him too? Have you slept with him?

No, don't tell me—I don't want to know.

I know he's an adult and this is none of my business. He can make his own decisions in life. If he's fallen in love with a man, and if he wants to act on those feelings, and if the two of you choose to have a relationship… well, it shouldn't matter what I think about it.

Just please don't hurt him, all right? When he hurts, I hurt. He may be an adult, a responsible professional man, a respected physician…

But he's still my little boy.


	32. Monster MASH

**Monster M*A*S*H**

_(A response to the prompt "monster." Post-war story.)_

----

Considering Hawkeye's tongue was in his ear at the time, B.J. was surprised he heard Erin calling from her bedroom down the hall. "Daddy! Daddy!"

B.J. sat up despite being completely entangled with Hawkeye, who sighed. "That daughter of yours seems to know exactly when we're in the midst of foreplay. That's always when she calls for a glass of water. It's uncanny."

B.J. was about to reply when the cry came again. "Daddy!" And this time, he noted that it was a frightened cry.

"She had a nightmare or something, it sounds like," B.J. said, pulling his T-shirt back on as he climbed out of bed. Behind him, Hawkeye also stood and grabbed his red robe, shrugging into it. They padded down the hallway.

"Erin?" B.J. asked as he opened her bedroom door. "What is it, honey?" He flicked on the light. She was sitting up in her bed, her cheeks wet with tears, looking very upset. He was at her side instantly, pulling her into his arms, running a hand over her back. "Bad dream, huh?"

She shook her head no against his chest.

He pulled back a bit to look into her face. "Not a dream? Then what's wrong?"

She looked from him to Hawkeye back to him, her eyes wide. She sniffled, still getting herself under control. Hawkeye reached over B.J.'s shoulder to ruffle her hair a little, showing his support. "_Something_ has you upset, Erin," Hawk said gently. "Tell us what it is."

She glanced to the left side of the room, then whispered, "There's a monster over there. In the closet."

B.J. followed her gaze to the closet, where the door was slightly ajar. "A monster?" he echoed, trying to keep his voice even. This was a new one on his parenting radar; his daughter had never expressed concern over monsters in her room before. He exchanged a look with Hawkeye. "You saw it, did you?" he asked Erin.

She nodded furiously, eyes getting even bigger. "The door's a little open," she said. "I saw him in there. I don't wanna sleep in here, Daddy, I'm scared."

Hawkeye moved to sit beside B.J. on the bed, placing an arm around Erin's shoulders. "How about if your daddy and I investigate your closet, take a real good look around in there? I have a feeling there won't be any monsters, but I promise we'll check for you. OK?"

She still looked scared, but she nodded. B.J. and Hawkeye went over to the closet and Hawkeye yanked the door wide open, saying loudly, "Monster? Does there happen to be a monster in here? If so, show yourself!"

B.J. snapped on a nearby lamp and aimed the light into the dark closet. Meanwhile, Hawkeye was looking underneath clothing scattered on the closet floor, tossing stuffed animals about, making sure there were no monsters of any sort hanging out in there. The two of them put on a pretty elaborate show, and after a couple minutes, B.J. turned back toward his daughter and said with a shrug, "See? No monsters. We looked."

Hawkeye nodded and then sneezed. "Lots of dust bunnies, young lady," he admonished, "but no monsters."

Erin did not look convinced. "He's hiding."

"But where, honey?" B.J. asked, gesturing around the room.

In spite of her fear, she actually rolled her eyes. "That's why it's called _hiding_, Dad," she said impatiently.

B.J. almost laughed. But she was honestly frightened, albeit just by her own active imagination, and he didn't want to make light of the situation. "I think if he was in here—and I'm not convinced he was—but _if_ he was, then I think all the commotion scared him off. He ran to some other house by now."

Erin just looked at him, clearly debating this logic. It didn't look like she was buying it.

"I have an idea," Hawkeye said then, approaching her bed with one of her favorite stuffed animals in his hand. It was a brown dog with floppy ears that she had asked Hawkeye to name for her, and he'd taken that task very seriously, giving it a lot of thought. Eventually he'd dubbed the toy Cooper, after James Fenimore Cooper, the author of _The Last of the Mohicans_.

Erin reached out for Cooper now, and Hawkeye obliged, putting him into her small hands. "How about this, Erin? Cooper here is a very brave, vigilant little doggie…"

"Vigi—?" she wondered, cocking her head.

"Vigilant," Hawkeye repeated. "It means he is a very good watchdog."

"Oh."

"So here's what I think. If we leave Cooper here on the bed, right here next to you, then he will watch that closet and make sure no monster comes out of it. He can be fierce when he wants to be, you know."

"I know," she replied enthusiastically, as if she'd personally witnessed Cooper fighting tooth and nail with some monster or human.

"So," Hawkeye continued, "he'll be your guard dog while you sleep. I don't think there's a monster in the closet, but if there is, Cooper will take care of him. That sound like a good plan, Erin?"

She patted Cooper on the head and studied the stuffed dog, mulling this suggestion over. After a moment, she said, "OK, Hawkeye."

Hawk grinned at B.J., who winked back at him. Well-played, he thought, for a man who often expressed doubts about his fathering abilities. "All right, honey?" B.J. said, firmly shutting the closet door. "This door is closed now… tight. And you have Cooper on the bed with you to keep you safe. You'll try to go back to sleep now?"

Clutching the stuffed dog in her hands, she nodded and settled back down into her sheets. "Yes."

Tears sprang suddenly to B.J.'s eyes. She was being so brave now, trying to show her dads that she wasn't a baby, that she could do this. He was so proud of her. He went to her and leaned over her, giving her a goodnight kiss on the forehead. "That's my girl," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "Sleep well, sweetie."

Hawkeye also gave her a kiss on the forehead, then tweaked her nose. "Everything's going to be fine, Erin. G'night."

Her eyes were already getting droopy. "Thank you, Hawkeye," she said. "Asking Cooper to be my god dog was a good idea."

"_Guard_ dog," he corrected her. But her eyes had already fluttered shut.

B.J. turned off the light and quietly followed Hawkeye out of the room, clicking the door shut behind them.

Once back inside their own bedroom, B.J. pulled Hawkeye into a warm, grateful embrace. "Beautifully done, Hawk," he mumbled against Hawkeye's neck. "That was brilliant."

Hawkeye let out a laugh. "Just winged it, that's all. I was actually a little surprised it worked."

B.J. pulled back, kissed Hawkeye briefly on the mouth, then said, "That's parenting. You just keep on trying stuff. You never know what's gonna work, or why."

Hawkeye helped himself to a longer, deeper kiss. "So that's the big secret, huh? Just play your hunches?"

Quickly falling back into romantic mode, B.J. ran a finger over Hawkeye's lower lip and smiled seductively. "You're a natural," he assured Hawkeye. "And the important thing is, she didn't even ask to come sleep in our room. Well-done, my love."

Hawkeye pulled him to the bed by his shirt, his expression turning impish. "Come here and show me just how appreciative you are," he purred.

"Your wish is my command." B.J. smacked off the light switch as he passed it, and they fell together onto the bed.


	33. Touched

**Touched****  
**  
_(A response to the prompt "hands.")_

----

It's a beautiful, blue-sky summer day and they're taking a walk outside of camp, just for something to do… talking leisurely and laughing warmly, enjoying the weather, enjoying each other. They're just strolling along when all of a sudden Hawkeye slips his hand into B.J.'s, apparently without a thought. And for a moment, it takes B.J.'s breath away.

They've been—what's the euphemism?—_together_ for weeks now. There have been kisses—many, _many_ kisses—and there has been sex—white-hot, indescribably delicious sex—but this is the first time they've held hands.

B.J. looks down at their linked fingers, and he smiles. When was the last time he got giddy about holding hands with someone? Probably all the way back when he was 14 and his sweaty, unsure hand had taken hold of Sally-Ann Jackson's after the lights went down in the movie theater.

But giddy is how he feels now. Giddy and contented and moved beyond words.

It's silly, he knows. He's not 14 anymore… he's a grown man, a respected, capable physician. But there's always been a lot about Hawkeye that's made him feel different. Seems that it's a brave new world when it comes to his relationship with Hawkeye Pierce.

The hand he's holding, for instance. A man's hand… a surgeon's hand… strong and steady and talented. Long, nimble fingers… skilled at cutting, at stitching, at mending. Equally skilled at tenderly touching in a way that made B.J. feel like the only person on earth. Equally skilled at bringing his lover to climax.

B.J.'s still smiling, and now he thinks he understands why he's feeling so overwhelmed. Somehow it goes beyond the simple touch of skin on skin.

The connection begins with their linked hands, but it extends to his soul.

He glances over at his lover, and grips his hand a little tighter.


	34. Stained

**Stained**

_(A response to the prompt "red.")_

----

Steam rises around them and B.J. wonders how long it'll be before their hot water runs out. It's a little surprising that it hasn't yet, truth be told. It isn't every day you get into this shower and find you're greeted with an abundance of hot water, but today the two of them are lucking out.

He lifts his lashes for a second and catches Hawkeye's gaze. Hawk is standing there looking at him so lovingly it makes his heart ache. He's not saying anything, which is a rarity, and for some reason, that only adds to the tenderness of the moment.

B.J. directs his attention back to the task at hand, taking the sponge and moving it over and over and over Hawkeye's chest, gently rubbing at the large red spot that stubbornly refuses to fade.

It's an occupational hazard: blood seeping through your clothing, staining your skin. You're constantly going around with other people's blood on you, and sometimes you wear it for days. It's obscene, really, if you let yourself think about it too much.

It's the blood of kids, after all. Kids who have no business getting shot and maimed and killed. Kids who should be back home, in the States, hanging out with their friends.

B.J. stares as his hand wipes over the same patch of skin on Hawkeye's chest, wishing for the red to wash away, wishing for the memories to fade along with it. The kid that Hawk had worked on in the OR, the one who'd sprung a leak and sent geysers of this red stuff onto Hawkeye's gown and skin beneath, had died after an hour on the table. In spite of Hawkeye's heroic efforts, the kid had died anyway. After the OR session was over, Hawkeye had asked Radar how old the kid was. Just shy of 22, Radar had told them.

B.J. wipes and wipes with his soapy sponge. When he steals another glance at Hawkeye's face, he sees that Hawk has his eyes closed. His hands move now, to come to rest lightly on B.J.'s hips, and B.J. steps a little closer.

"I think it's starting to come out," B.J. says to break the silence that's been dragging out, but his voice sounds too loud, even with the shower almost drowning out the words.

Hawkeye replies with a noncommittal "Hmm." He opens his eyes, though, and B.J. can see the adoration in them, and it makes him feel weak. A small but genuine smile comes to Hawkeye's lips and he says, softly, "I love you."

B.J.'s mouth goes dry, and he forgets what he's doing, his hand going still instead of continuing to wipe at the blood. He swallows and then manages to reply, "I love you too."

Hawkeye leans a little and B.J. leans to meet him, and they share a brief but sweet kiss. Their kisses always seem somehow more intense in the shower, B.J. doesn't know why. And then he snaps back to the bloodstain on Hawkeye's chest, the one he wants to erase if he can, and he begins to run the sponge over it again.

"It's all right," Hawkeye says, his voice still unnaturally soft, "if you can't get it out. It'll be a reminder for a while."

"I don't want you to be reminded."

"We lose them sometimes. It's OK to be reminded of that."

B.J. shakes his head, and all he does is repeat, "I don't want you to be reminded."

The water is finally starting to turn cool. B.J. knows they were lucky it ran hot for as long as it did. Hawkeye reaches behind him and shuts off the stream. "Beej," he says, taking hold of B.J.'s hand and halting its constant back-and-forth motion on his chest. "Stop. It's good enough."

But B.J. can still see the red, and it makes him furious. Hawkeye shouldn't have to wear the blood of others… the blood of kids. It isn't right.

Hawkeye takes the sponge out of his hand and puts it down, then reaches for their towels. "Thank you for trying."

B.J. resigns himself to the fact that the red blotch a couple inches below Hawkeye's collarbone isn't going anywhere, at least not today. He nods and begins to towel off. He feels terribly sad, as if the fact that he couldn't get the bloodstain off Hawkeye's skin is somehow more upsetting than the lost patient, and of course that's not the case. He can't seem to take his eyes off the red.

Suddenly Hawkeye puts his hand on B.J.'s chin and lifts his head, forcing eye contact, and saying, "Forget about the stain, Beej. I can deal with it. I can deal with anything as long as I have you."

And that's when B.J. realizes that he may not have washed away the stain, but somehow he's managed to wash away some of the pain.


	35. Do Not Disturb

**Do Not Disturb**

_(A response to the prompt "risky.")_

----

"Don't you think we should go?" B.J. asked, his voice soft.

Hawkeye shook his head no, his left hand moving slowly down B.J.'s back and coming to rest on his ass. He leaned in a fraction of an inch to bring their mouths together for a brief kiss.

"What if someone barges in here and sees us?"

"The hanger's on the door," Hawkeye said, clearly not sharing B.J.'s concern. "People honor the hanger-on-the-door system."

"But suppose someone did. Barge in, I mean… despite the hanger. What would happen?"

"I'd marry you," Hawkeye teased.

"No, seriously."

Hawkeye shrugged, "Depends who we're talking about. If it's Burns, then I'm sure we'd be looking at dishonorable discharges. If it's someone like Klinger, probably nothing would happen. He'd look the other way."

Hawkeye seemed so nonchalant, but B.J. couldn't quite manage to adopt that attitude. They were lying there on a mattress on the floor, both of them naked, at least partially in view of the supply-room door… should someone decide to open it. The only thing between them and discovery was a hanger on a door.

"Don't wanna go back to the Swamp yet," Hawkeye continued, talking lazily, as if he were falling asleep, and maybe he was. "Wanna stay in your arms, Beej. I sleep better in your arms."

That melted B.J.'s heart, and he drew a little closer to Hawkeye… a moment ago, he wouldn't have thought that was even possible. They were right up against each other, belly to belly, legs entwined. He lightly kissed Hawkeye's nose. "Then we'll stay right here," he finally agreed. "It's worth the risk."

Hawkeye smiled sweetly at that, his eyelids fluttering shut.

But B.J., who sometimes didn't know when to drop a subject, wondered, "So you never got caught in here, then? In a… uh, you know, compromising position?"

"Just the once," Hawkeye mumbled, now sounding milliseconds away from sleep, "…with Trapper."

B.J. blinked, startled. "With…? What did you say?"

But there was no reply, because Hawkeye had drifted off.

B.J., on the other hand, was awake for a long time to come.


	36. Off to See the Wizard

**Off to See the Wizard**

_(A response to the prompt "courage.")_

----

B.J. remembers being young, maybe around 7 or 8, when his 18-year-old cousin Mark stopped coming to the family gatherings. He was a no-show at Thanksgiving, and a no-show again at Christmas, and B.J. remembers asking his mom where Mark was all of a sudden… why he didn't come to the dinners anymore. He'd always loved Mark's sense of humor and had really looked up to the guy, wished he got to see him more often than just at the holidays.

B.J.'s mom had only said, "He's busy, B.J. Maybe we'll see him at Easter." And then a few months later, it became, "Maybe we'll see him over the summer."

There was whispering when the older folks mentioned Mark's name, not that his name came up often. Whispers and shakes of the heads. Clear disapproval.

It wasn't until many years later that B.J. found out the real reason his cousin had stopped showing up at the family dinners. At 18, Mark had admitted to his folks that he was homosexual, and they'd disowned him. He'd packed his bags and left their house, and he wasn't in touch with anyone in the family from that moment on.

B.J. sits on his cot in the Swamp, watching a sleeping Hawkeye and remembering cousin Mark. He imagines how scared Mark must've been, to realize his attraction to men rather than women… how alienating that must've been, especially when his parents ordered him out of their house because of feelings he had. Because of something he had no control over.

He wonders what became of Mark. If life got better for him once he was out on his own… if he found love and if he got his happily ever after. He deserved it, for being so honest with himself and with others, even when they rejected him because of it.

That must have taken such courage.

B.J. runs his eyes over Hawkeye's sweet, peaceful face… watches the steady, comforting rise and fall of his chest… studies the long, talented fingers on hands that have mended and saved.

He takes a sip of gin and lies down, his eyes never leaving the sleeping man a few feet away.

A single tear falls down the side of his face. He understands more about Mark now than he'd ever imagined he would. Whether he has the courage his cousin did… well, that's another question entirely.


	37. Let It Rain

**Let It Rain**

_(A response to the prompt "thunder." Post-war, but ties in to the episode "Out of Sight, Out of Mind.")_

----

As the low rumble faded into the distance, B.J. looked at Hawkeye and said, "I love thunder."

"You do?"

"I do." He sat down next to Hawkeye on the couch, absently taking hold of his hand. "Every time I hear it, I think of what you said… back in Korea, when you had your accident and you were blinded…? You told me how you listened to a storm, and your senses were so heightened, you felt like you were a part of that storm. You said the thunder seemed to echo forever. It was… oh, I don't know… poetic. Beautiful." He smiled as he looked into Hawk's eyes. "You remember that?"

Touched, Hawkeye nodded and said, "Yeah, I do. I didn't know that _you_ remembered it… and so vividly."

"I lived through that experience with you, Hawk. It had an impact on me too."

"Evidently."

"Actually, that might've been when I started to fall in love with you," B.J. noted with a small laugh, as if this were dawning on him for the first time. "I remember thinking, what an extraordinary man. No self-pity, no ranting against God or circumstance. You dealt with that whole thing in such a surprising way. It was… inspiring, if that doesn't sound too corny."

"No. Not too corny." Hawkeye stared at B.J., a slow smile spreading across his face. Outside, thunder clapped again. And echoed…

The lights flickered, but didn't go out.

"I love thunder, too," Hawkeye continued, leaning in to give B.J. a quick kiss on the mouth. "From now on, it's always going to remind me of this conversation."

That statement was punctuated with yet another boom outside. The heavens opened up and rain started to pour down, sounding every bit like steaks barbecuing as it hit the ground, and Hawkeye pulled B.J. to him, kissing his neck, nuzzling, burrowing a hand underneath his shirt. Then B.J.'s mouth was on his, demanding and warm, and he was gently pressed backward onto the couch.

_Oh yeah,_ Hawkeye thought. _Let it rain…_


	38. Through the Lens

**Through the Lens**

_(A response to the prompt "photograph." Post-war story.)_

----

Her husband's been home from Korea for three weeks. In some ways, he has clearly changed (the moustache—she's already hinted that she'd like him to shave it off—the longer hair). In other ways, the changes are very subtle. There's something of a haunted look in his eyes at times, which she realizes sounds melodramatic and yet she can't figure out how else to describe it.

But the most disturbing change is that there's something he's not telling her, and once upon a time, he told her _everything_. There's this distance between them that she's convinced she's not imagining. On the one hand, does she really want to know the horrors he witnessed, the traumatic experiences he had to deal with every day? He probably wants to spare her the bloody details of his life over there and for that she should be grateful. The less she knows, the better.

But… Well, maybe she's just being paranoid, and probably there's nothing to it. But she can't help thinking the secrets he's harboring have something to do with his best friend. And she doesn't know why, but she has this crazy notion that it's a threat to her marriage.

_Ridiculous_, she thinks as she stares at the framed photo that sits on the desk in her husband's study. _My imagination's running wild. What kind of a threat does this man pose? He's B.J.'s best friend, that's all. He lives 3000 miles away. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice person._

She reaches out and touches the picture, as if trying to get a sense of Hawkeye Pierce by putting a finger to his likeness. He's standing there with his arm slung around B.J., both of them smiling into the camera as they stand outside the tent that was called the Swamp, looking like every set of best friends you've ever seen.

But it's the look in her husband's eyes that she fixates on. There's something there… something she's not sure she ever saw before. And it's that look that makes her think… well, unthinkable thoughts.

He got this picture framed the second day he was home, and it's been on his desk ever since. She's not sure, but she thinks he has a duplicate on his desk at work, also framed, sitting there alongside his photos of her and Erin.

He's told her many stories about Hawkeye already, painting him as outrageous and fun-loving and bright. She's certain he'll be telling her many more.

But she looks at the photo, at the way the two men are pressed together, and at that damn sparkle in her husband's eye, and all she can think is: a picture is worth a thousand words.


	39. Persuaded

**Persuaded**

_(A response to the prompt "promise.")_

----

"I can't," B.J. said, shaking his head even while he allowed Hawkeye to take his hand, "I'm married."

"Nobody's married here," Hawkeye said, pulling him onto the cot. "This is Korea."

As if that made sense. Except that it did, when it came out of Hawkeye's mouth. Somehow, even the most ridiculous things made sense when Hawkeye said them.

_A talking squirrel helped me out once during a med-school exam. I used to know a Cocker Spaniel who wrote for the New York Times. Never mind that ring, you're not really married here in the middle of a war._

B.J. closed his eyes and let Hawkeye's hungry mouth capture his own.

He didn't know why he gave in. Partly because the war was so close, he could hear it right outside the door. Partly because the life he lived now included sharing his quarters with two doctors and half a dozen rats.

Mainly because it was Hawkeye, the master of persuasion.

"I do" seemed a lifetime and 10,000 miles away.

It was easy, back then, to make promises. It didn't seem possible that there would ever be any reason to reconsider.

Everything changed when he stepped onto Korean soil. So much was lost over here. Lives, limbs, sanity, innocence.

Promises were just another casualty of war.


	40. A Christmas Story

**A Christmas Story**

_(A response to the prompt "naughty or nice." Post-war story.)_

----

"That seems to be taking you an awfully long time," B.J. said from right behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"It's delicate work, Beej," Hawkeye replied without turning around, carefully placing a tiny teakettle on a tiny stove. "But Erin's going to love this dollhouse."

He could feel B.J. nodding his head. "She sure will."

"Beej, you're not helping me, hovering like this. Why don't you go into the kitchen and eat some of the cookies she left out for Santa?"

There was a pause and Hawkeye could picture the sheepish look on his partner's face. "I, uh, already ate them. I'm sorry, Hawk, did you want one?"

He laughed, gently righting a tiny kitchen chair that had toppled over. Delicate work, all right. "That's OK, Beej. I'm almost done here, and then we can go to bed."

"Well finally!" B.J. exclaimed. Now he was pacing the livingroom, mindful of not getting in Hawkeye's way.

"It's painstaking work," Hawk reiterated.

"Hawk, you're a surgeon. Painstaking work is your life."

For the first time in probably 15 minutes, Hawkeye turned away from the task at hand and looked at B.J. "I don't operate on dollhouses, for Christ's sake."

B.J. stopped pacing and came over to stand next to him, watching as he put the final touch on the thing: a tiny welcome mat at the front door. "Ta da!" Hawkeye cheered, taking a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Terrific!" B.J. said, clapping him on the back. "Beautiful work, Hawk."

"She's going to _love_ this."

They stood there staring at the dollhouse in silence, imagining Erin's reaction. The lights on the Christmas tree to their left blinked off and on, off and on. There were dozens of wrapped presents underneath it, mostly for Erin, but some with tags that said B.J. or Hawkeye or Waggle.

The dollhouse, finally in its finished state, wasn't going to be wrapped, but they figured Erin wouldn't mind.

B.J. slipped his arm around Hawkeye's waist and kissed him on the cheek, whispering, "Bedtime." It sent a shiver of anticipation through Hawkeye's body.

But just as they turned toward the staircase, Erin suddenly appeared at the top of it, looking down and squealing. "He was here! Santa was here!"

Sheer chaos followed. She bounded down the steps, her arms flailing, her voice high-pitched and nearly hysterical. "I _thought_ I heard something on the roof! He was just here, wasn't he, Daddy? He just flew away, didn't he? Did he eat the cookies I left out?"

B.J. somehow managed to grab hold of her arm before she barreled past them, stopping her before she could get anywhere near the tree or the gifts or the dollhouse. "Erin, it's 12:30 in the morning. Yes, Santa was obviously here already, but we have to wait until morning to open presents."

She looked at him like he'd grown a third eye. "Huh?"

Hawkeye put a hand on B.J.'s shoulder. "Beej," he said. "Look at her. She's never going to get back to sleep. I vote we go ahead and open presents now."

B.J. gave his head a shake, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Now? In the middle of the night?" Like that was the craziest thing he could ever imagine.

Hawkeye gestured to Erin, who was struggling to pull her arm out of her father's grip. She was desperate to get to the dollhouse and all her other presents. Luckily, B.J. was stronger than a determined, exuberant 6-year-old. "She's all wound up," Hawkeye pointed out. "You can lead a little girl to bed, but you can't make her sleep."

B.J. looked from Hawkeye back to Erin and then back to Hawkeye. "It's 12:30 in the morning," he mumbled. He was clearly still trying to wrap his brain around this latest development. Just when they thought they'd had everything planned to the letter, too.

Hawkeye nodded. "Guarantee she'll be conked out by 2. And then all of us can sleep until noon."

Apparently those were the magic words. With a sigh, B.J. gave in, "All right, all right." Still holding onto Erin's arm, he knelt down in front of her and said, "OK, sweetie, we're going to open the presents now, but I'm doing this under protest. You're kind of naughty, getting up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. What would Santa think?"

He released his hold on her and she gave a half-hearted shrug. "It doesn't matter," she said matter-of-factly. "He already gave me my presents."

B.J. threw his hands up in defeat. He moved to stand next to Hawkeye while their daughter made a beeline for her dollhouse, oohing and ahhing and marveling at every tiny piece of furniture. "I love it!" she squealed, clapping her hands.

Hawkeye smiled broadly at B.J., then leaned in for a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Beej."

"Merry Christmas, Hawkeye."

They settled onto the floor and watched, delighted, as Erin began to tear into her wrapped gifts.


	41. 7:00 on a Tuesday Morning

**7:00 on a Tuesday Morning**

_(A response to the prompt "watching.")_

----

There were, B.J. decided, certain advantages to sleeping three feet away from Hawkeye.

Take now, for instance. With one eye open a slit, he was watching a completely unaware Hawkeye roll out of bed and try to dress without waking up his tentmates. Hawk was moving with exaggerated slowness, standing on the balls of his feet, doing his damnedest not to knock over or bang into anything. It was entertaining as hell.

B.J. opened his eye a little wider… the better to enjoy the show. He smiled into his pillow as he watched Hawkeye tossing around his blankets in search of his pants. Served him right, having no idea where they were. If he didn't keep his area of the Swamp such a pigsty maybe he wouldn't have such difficulty finding his clothing.

Ah, there. He finally located his pants, which had somehow gotten twisted in with the blankets. Now Hawkeye was balancing on one leg and trying to pull them on… hopping a little… coming dangerously close to toppling over… putting a hand onto his own cot to steady himself. There was the tiniest "Ooof" out of his mouth, and he turned sharply to make sure his voice hadn't awakened Charles. It hadn't. B.J. quickly shut his eyes, feigning sleep, because he knew that Hawkeye would be looking his way next.

In his head he counted up to ten-Mississippi, then opened his eye again. Hawkeye had finally gotten his pants on. Quite an accomplishment.

Now, inevitably, he was hunting for his T-shirt. Yet another piece of clothing buried in the clutter that surrounded Hawkeye's cot. He watched as Hawkeye got onto his hands and knees and looked underneath said cot. Then he crawled around to the other side. Suddenly he stood, hands on his hips, and looked around. B.J. could imagine the internal monologue, _Now where the hell is that shirt I was wearing last night? How far could it have gone?_

Finally Hawk shrugged to himself, apparently deciding to forego a shirt. He grabbed his beloved red bathrobe—which was always on a hook, never in any danger of being lost in the black hole—and put it on.

Good Lord, what a production. All this, just to head out to the showers. But wait, he still wasn't leaving.

Oh, the shampoo.

B.J. knew he "needed" his favorite shampoo, sent from home by his dad. He hated the Army-issue stuff. He came back around the cot and knelt down, verrrry slowly opening up his footlocker, which _did_ have a tendency to squeak when opened. And sure enough… it squeaked, but in slow-motion. B.J. had to stifle a laugh. Then he immediately shut his eye again, certain Hawkeye would be looking around.

… _nine-Mississippi, ten-Mississippi…_

Deciding it was safe, he opened his eye again—

—and Hawkeye was right there, inches away from it, staring straight at him.

"Gaaaah!" B.J. exclaimed, nearly jumping out of bed. "Jesus, Hawk, what the hell are you—?"

"What the hell are _you_ doing, spying on me like that?" Hawkeye interrupted, then followed that with a _tsk tsk_. "There I was, trying to be considerate as all hell, being quiet as a mouse, and you were lying here _watching_ me. Enjoying my misfortune. Admit it."

B.J. couldn't help it, he laughed. Long and hard. The whole thing had been funny from the get-go, and then to have gotten caught…? Damn, that was even more hilarious.

His guffaws only grew when he realized that Charles was still sleeping through it all. He laughed so hard his eyes teared up and he couldn't catch his breath. For a few moments, he thought he was going to drop dead from lack of oxygen.

"Well?" Hawkeye demanded, hands on hips, as B.J. finally started to get himself under control. "What do you have to say for yourself? You, you… Peeping Tom!"

B.J. propped himself up on an elbow and reached out, taking the belt from Hawkeye's bathrobe in his fingers… slowly pulling it open to reveal his bare chest. "I'd only be a Peeping Tom if I'd been watching something sexy."

An eyebrow shot up. "Thanks a lot, pal!" Hawkeye said, yanking his belt out of B.J.'s hands.

B.J. stood up from his cot, looked over at Charles, who was amazingly still dead to the world, and took a step closer to Hawkeye. He reclaimed Hawkeye's belt before he had a chance to tie the robe back up. He leaned in, put his mouth to Hawkeye's ear, and whispered, "Let me come with you to the showers. _Then_ I'll be watching something sexy."

That did the trick. If Hawkeye really was angry about having been spied on, he was willing to forgive an amorous B.J. making enticing propositions. He glanced left, then right, and then—satisfied they were truly sharing a private moment—kissed B.J. quickly on the mouth. "Bring your shampoo," he said. "I can't find mine."

B.J. obediently grabbed his bottle of shampoo, followed by his own bathrobe, and the two of them tip-toed out of the Swamp, leaving Charles sleeping in ignorant bliss.


	42. Or Consequences

**Or Consequences**

_(A response to the prompt "truth.")_

----

Start with the truth, disguise it with lies.

"He's my best friend."

…_lover…_

"Just a couple of Army buddies."

…_who sleep together…_

"We're close."

…_I can't breathe without him…_

"I love my wife."

…_but I love him too…_

It's like calling the Korean War a police action. Harsh reality softened by a turn of phrase. Not quite admitting to everything. Not exactly acknowledging the truth.

What _is_ the truth?

Hiding and denying and deceiving.

Passion and longing and love.

A whole other world than the one everyone sees.

The truth that's most painful is the one he only admits to himself in the early hours of dawn, when sleep refuses to claim him.

"I'll end it when the war is over."

_No. I won't._


	43. Marked

**Marked**

_(A response to the prompt "perfect.")_

----

B.J. was standing in the shower when he first noticed the bruises. He grabbed a towel and stepped out, going to the large mirror over the sink to take a closer look. He wiped the steam from the mirror and ran his eyes over his naked body.

Bruises on both biceps… one on his right wrist… more on his hips. He touched a finger to his left bicep and winced a little… then smiled.

They'd been rough last night. Wild and frantic… like a couple of guys fresh out of solitary confinement or something, desperate and ravenous. Probably because they were on R&R in Seoul, not in camp, where they could be caught at any moment. Probably because they had a hotel room and a king-size bed and more privacy than they knew what to do with.

His smile grew. Bruised from sex… well, that was something new.

He took a step closer to the mirror and leaned in, squinting as he made another discovery. Oh good Lord… no. In addition to the bruises, he actually had… holy hell…

Yep. A hickey.

His fingers found their way to his neck and he rubbed at it. Damn that Hawkeye. What was he, 13? How was he supposed to hide _this_ once they got back to camp?

He sighed and stepped back, and suddenly Hawkeye was there in the doorway, naked as the day he was born, and watching him. B.J. nearly jumped a foot in the air.

"Hawk!" he said, putting a hand over his thudding heart. "Christ. You scared the shit outta me."

Hawkeye smiled, enjoying B.J.'s reaction. Then he shook his head disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't stand there staring at yourself in the mirror, Beej. It's unbecoming." His eyebrows bounced up and down. "Let _me_ do the staring."

B.J. held out his arms to display the marks. "I'm a little bruised this morning," he explained. Then he pointed at Hawk's arms, "Hey, so are you."

Hawkeye looked down at himself. "Yeah, I guess I am." He lifted his eyes, turning his focus back to B.J.'s face, and grinned. "We were a little out of control last night."

B.J.'s return smile was shy, self-conscious. "Yeah. A little."

Hawkeye held out his hand, "Come back to bed with me. I'll make it up to you," he offered, with an alluring tilt of his head.

B.J. dropped his towel. He took Hawkeye's hand and let himself be led back into the other room, to the bed. They sort of fell onto it together, limbs tangled, laughing softly.

"Sorry about the bruises," Hawkeye murmured, licking B.J.'s left ear.

"Mm. It's all right."

"Are you sore?" Hawkeye asked. B.J. wasn't sure if he meant physically or emotionally.

"Nah." Regardless of the question, the answer was no. Hawkeye's tongue tickled him. Then he remembered something. "You gave me a hickey, you know."

Hawkeye's laugh sounded evil, echoing in his ear. "Guess you'll have to wear turtlenecks for a while," he suggested.

"I don't own any turtlenecks," B.J. countered.

"We'll buy you some."

B.J. shut his eyes and sank deeper into the sheets, giving himself up to the sensations. Butterfly kisses on his jaw and collarbone. Hands wandering over his chest… traveling to his stomach… stroking the bruises on his hips. He was only dimly aware of his own moaning.

"All these marks," Hawkeye muttered when his mouth wasn't busy with other things. "…Quite a contrast from the first time we met."

"Huh?" B.J. wasn't sure he could concentrate on an actual conversation right now.

"At Kimpo. That first day." The adventurous tongue dipped into B.J.'s ear and out again. "You looked _perfect_. Clean, pressed, ramrod-straight posture, maybe the most wholesome-looking young man I'd ever laid eyes on." Now he pulled back to look at B.J.'s face. B.J. was fairly certain his expression was dazed and glazed, his eyes dilated. But he was trying hard to follow Hawkeye's train of thought… wherever the hell it was heading.

"And…?" he prompted.

Hawkeye gave a half-shrug, apparently not finding it easy to articulate. "It's just… seeing these marks on you… it took me back to that flawless first impression. There you were, Mr. Spit and Polish… Mr. Perfect." He leaned in and brought their mouths together in a brief kiss. "How could you live up to that? Hell, _nobody's_ perfect."

B.J.'s eyes wandered over to the nightstand, where his wedding ring lay next to his dog tags. "Yeah," he said, immediately turning his attention back to Hawkeye, then rolling him over onto his back. "You can say that again."


	44. The Fight

**The Fight**

_(A response to the prompt "awake." Post-war story.)_

----

B.J. turned over in bed for what he figured must be the 50th time in the last 10 minutes. He opened his eyes to take a look at the clock, which read 12:35. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. This was ridiculous.

His mind made up, he threw back the covers and got out of bed. He opened the bedroom door and hesitated for the briefest moment, then remembered his resolve.

The guest room was a couple doors down the hallway, and he didn't even bother to announce his entrance. He just turned the knob, swung the door open, and stood there in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the total darkness. Not that he really _needed_ to see; he knew Hawkeye was lying in bed but every bit as awake as he was.

Tentatively, he said, "Hawk?"

A pause, then, softly and sounding annoyed: "What?"

B.J. fought back his impatience. Hawkeye was still pissed, but he expected as much. That didn't mean he had to change his tack. "This is ridiculous," he said simply, the very thought that'd been running through his head for the past hour.

No answer, but at least Hawkeye wasn't kicking him out of the room.

So, still keeping his voice gentle, nonconfrontational, he pointed out, "We've never slept in separate beds before. I mean, not since we started sleeping in the same bed."

"And?"

B.J. shrugged, though Hawk surely wasn't even looking in his direction. "And I can't do it," he confessed. "I can't sleep without you. All I do is toss and turn."

At first B.J. thought Hawkeye wasn't going to respond, but finally Hawk's voice floated over to him, the edge and anger fading a little, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I can't sleep either. Feels… lonely."

B.J. nodded. "Lonely," he echoed. A silence crept in, then he added, taking the plunge, "So what do ya say… come back to bed? To _our_ bed?"

Finally Hawkeye turned to look at him. "I'm still pissed off, B.J. That hasn't changed."

B.J. leaned against the doorjamb, nodding. "I know. So maybe we should try to resolve this, even though it's going on 1 in the morning. Maybe I should put on a pot of coffee and we should sit down and talk this out. Because there's one thing I'm sure of: I won't be able to sleep until you're by my side again."

He waited while Hawkeye weighed the offer. After a moment, Hawkeye sat up and finger-combed his hair, saying, "Yeah. Coffee sounds good."

B.J. smiled. It was far from a resolution, but it was a step in the right direction. They were likely in for a very long night, but no matter. They'd work it out; he was sure of it. And then that would put an end to this separate beds shit.

Hawkeye approached him but didn't touch him. Not yet. "I'm glad," he began, not quite able to make eye contact, "that you took the first step. I appreciate that."

It felt a little awkward, but it always did right after an intense fight that wasn't quite over and done with. B.J. waited for Hawk to look him in the eye, and then he said, "I don't ever want to know what it's like to be without you, Hawkeye Pierce."

Hawkeye's expression softened, though he didn't say anything. B.J. watched as he reached over to grab his red bathrobe off the chair next to the door, then shrugged into it. As they stepped out into the hallway, Hawkeye's arm curled around B.J.'s waist, their hips bumping together. B.J. turned to Hawk, smiling warmly, and Hawkeye surprised him with a soft kiss high on his cheek.

"Let's fix this," Hawkeye said as they reached the kitchen.

B.J. went to the coffee pot and started filling it with water, nodding. "We will."


	45. The One

**The One**

_(A response to the prompt "commitment.")__  
_

----

On his 30th birthday, Hawkeye mentioned to his father over a staticky phone line that he was a little surprised to be hitting the milestone as a bachelor. As a kid, he'd always figured he'd get married in his 20s. His father laughed softly and said, "Son, you're having way too much fun to settle down yet, and don't you deny it."

In point of fact, Hawkeye _hadn't_ denied it, but in his more introspective moments, he wondered if he was ever going to find the right person to settle down with. He'd come closest with Carlye, had even lived with her for a time, but marriage wasn't in the cards for them. He'd been too focused on his career, too obsessed with medicine. He hadn't felt ready… it hadn't felt right.

To the casual observer, he seemed like a happy-go-lucky playboy. Moving from woman to woman, from relationship to relationship, with ease and nonchalance. Not interested in committing to anyone, only looking to have fun.

He played that role well, and he'd be the first to admit he probably did have something of a fear of commitment, but when he thought about the long term, when he envisioned himself growing old, he hoped it wasn't going to be a solo journey. He may not have admitted it to anyone, but even as he dabbled and sampled and laughed, he was still thinking about forever.

As it happened, his life took an unexpected turn in the middle of a war. What was it they always said? When you stop looking for something, that's when you find it.

He'd stopped looking in Korea. The war was no place to search for a potential mate. He considered himself lucky to wake up alive every day. No, he would have dalliances here—and plenty of 'em—but he wasn't going to allow himself to get serious with anyone. The world was out of whack, and so was he. His life was on hold.

Into that holding pattern stepped B.J. Hunnicutt, with a smile that lit up entire countries and a gentleness that was overwhelming.

It was the proverbial bolt from the blue. Until that moment, Hawkeye had never considered that "the one" might be a man, but neither did he have a problem with that. Always open-minded, always honest with himself, he adjusted to any idea, including the blatantly obvious one that the clean-cut man who had walked up to him at Kimpo Airfield was his life mate.

And so his search ended with a handshake. His new life began with an exchange of quips. By the time he was celebrating his 40th birthday, Hawkeye Pierce had been with B.J. Hunnicutt for more than 7 years… and it was only the beginning.


	46. Away from Home

**Away from Home**

_(A response to the prompt "family." Post-war story.)_

----

The man has been rambling about his wife and three sons for the past 10 minutes, and now he reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and show Hawkeye some photos. Hawkeye's been tolerant, nodding every now and then through the man's monologue, but by now he's wishing fervently that the lecture would just begin already.

A hundred doctors in the room, and he had to pick _this_ one to sit next to.

The man flips open his wallet and points at a photo of a pretty blonde woman and three towheaded little boys. "That's them!" he says, beaming. "Amanda," and then, pointing out each individual kid, "Adam, Jeffrey, Robbie."

Hawkeye's a little shocked when the man actually pauses, because his mouth has been going nonstop all this time, not letting Hawkeye get a word in edgewise… assuming Hawkeye'd had anything to say. "Nice family," he says now, forcing a smile. He glances up at the stage, hoping somebody will magically appear at the podium and put him out of his misery.

"Thanks!" the man says, still smiling. "They're the best!"

_I gathered_, Hawkeye thinks sarcastically, his eyes still roaming the room, looking for any sign that the lecture's about to begin.

"Are you married?" the man asks now, putting his wallet back in his pocket.

Hawkeye turns to look at him, hesitates for a second, then says, "No, I'm not." It's the truth, but it feels like a lie.

No, not married. But living with the man he loves, and raising a daughter with him. He hates having to deny who he is, but hell, it's not like it's any of this guy's business. He's just some nameless doctor who happens to be sitting next to Hawkeye at a medical conference.

The man shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if disapproving. "You really ought to try it!" he suggests. "There's nothing better than having a loving family to go home to every night."

Suddenly Hawkeye misses B.J. and Erin with a fierce, white-hot intensity… misses them so much his heart aches and his breath catches. He glances up at the stage, which remains empty, and impulsively stands, telling Dr. Chatty, "Uh, I need to go check on something," as if this guy deserves an explanation.

He leaves the room and as the door closes behind him, he can hear the assembled doctors applauding, which no doubt means that somebody has finally taken the stage to begin the proceedings.

Doesn't matter, Hawkeye has something more important to do.

He takes the elevator up to his room, enters without bothering to turn on the light, and makes a beeline for the telephone.

"Hello?" And at the sound of B.J.'s voice, a few hundred miles away, Hawkeye feels his shoulders relax and a contented smile come to his face.

"Hey, Beej," he says softly. "It's me."

"Hawk? Hey!" He can hear the delight in B.J.'s voice. That is, until something occurs to him and he adds, "Is everything OK? I thought today was nonstop lectures for you…"

"Yeah, yeah," Hawkeye assures him. "I'm fine. I just… I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

Hawkeye shuts his eyes, asks, "Everything OK on the home front, Beej? Erin being a good girl?"

B.J. laughs. "Hawk, you've only been gone two days."

"Feels longer," Hawkeye admits.

"We're doing good, but we miss you. Erin's outside playing with Susie right now, but I'll tell her that you called."

"OK, Beej."

"Don't worry about us, we're fine. You just learn everything you can… come back a proverbial fount of surgical wisdom."

Hawkeye waves a hand as if B.J. can see him through the phone. "There's nothing they can teach me—"

"—that you didn't learn in Korea," his partner finishes for him, having heard the spiel umpteen million times. "I know, I know, but give it a shot anyway."

"If you insist." He glances at the clock on the nightstand next to the phone. "I have to get back to it, Beej, but… it was good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, good to hear yours too. See you soon, Hawk. Love you."

"I love you."

He hangs up the phone, feeling immeasurably better, ready to return to the lecture and sit back down next to Dr. Chatty, who may never know that Hawkeye does indeed have a family, but so what.

Hawkeye knows it, and that's all that matters.


	47. Away from Home II

(Author's Note: All these ficlets are supposed to be unrelated to each other, but for this one, I'm making an exception. It's a sequel to the previous story.)

**Away from Home II**

_(A response to the prompt "coffee.")_

----

"His name is B.J.," Hawkeye says as he shows Tammy the photo in his wallet. He can hear the adoration in his own voice and it's sappy as hell, but he can't help it. He misses the guy so much it almost hurts.

"Yeah," Tammy says patiently, "you told me his name before."

"Except that it's not even a name, really," Hawkeye points out. "It's just a couple of initials, for God's sake. You ever hear of anyone who just has initials for a name?"

"D.H. Lawrence?" Tammy supplies.

Hawkeye takes a sip of his coffee and shakes his head. "The D.H. stands for David Herbert. See, that's my point… B.J. doesn't actually stand for anything. Or at least, that's what he _says_." He flips to the next photo and there's his beaming little girl. "And this is Erin. Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

"She has B.J.'s smile," Tammy notes.

"Oh yes. And his love of mischief, too, let me tell ya." He turns to the next photo, which is all three of them posing together.

"You make a lovely family," says Tammy.

Hawkeye tears his eyes from the picture to look at her. "Am I boring the shit out of you, Tammy?"

She shakes her head vigorously. "No, Doctor… really." She gestures around the diner; he's been the only customer in the place for the last 40 minutes. Tammy the waitress has been indulging his ramblings for at least half that time. "Does it look busy in here? You're keeping me company, and you really do have a lovely family. You obviously miss them a lot."

Hawkeye nods, feeling a little foolish. "I've only been gone a couple days… I'm attending this medical conference at the hotel across the street? Only one more day of meetings and then I'll fly back home on Monday. So actually, I'm only away from home for four days, and it sounds ridiculous, but _God_, I miss them. B.J. and I have never been apart this long."

"That's so sweet," Tammy says.

Hawkeye puts his wallet away, studying her. "You don't think it's… wrong? Two men living together, raising a child together? Most people wouldn't approve. The Bible, I'm told, doesn't approve." He's not even sure why he started telling her about B.J. and Erin. Well wait a minutes, yes he is. That chatty doctor at the lecture this morning was the impetus for this. Hawkeye had felt guilty about lying to him, about claiming to have no family when in fact he did… but it wasn't like he could tell anyone at the conference about it. They were all his colleagues, and even if he never saw them again, he didn't feel he could let any of them know about his unusual home life.

So he'd come to this diner, initially only to get coffee and a late-night snack, but once the place cleared out and Tammy struck up a conversation with him… well, he'd started to run at the mouth, as he tended to do. And out came everything he'd wanted to say to Dr. Chatty this morning.

_I __do__ have a family. I love them. I live for them. _

Now Tammy says, in answer to his question, "No, I don't think it's wrong. You're in love… I can see it in the way you talk about him. You're lucky to have found him. Not everybody finds love—I haven't yet, and I'm 25."

Hawkeye reaches out and puts his hand gently on hers. "You have your whole life ahead of you, Tammy."

She gives a little shrug. "And anyway," she adds, "what difference does it make what other people think? People shouldn't be so judgmental."

Hawkeye grins at that. If only life were that simple. "You're a very smart, open-minded, worldly young woman, Tammy. Please tell me you don't plan to be a waitress forever."

She scoffs. "Nah, it's just a part-time job… I'm putting myself through college. It's slow-going, but I only have three more semesters. I'm planning to teach English."

"Good for you. You'll make a great teacher—you've been listening to me with endless patience. That's a good trait for somebody who has to deal with kids."

They share a laugh, and then she offers, "You want another refill of coffee, Dr. Pierce?"

"One more cup, Tammy… and one more piece of pie, please. Then I'll have to get going." He glances at his watch, which reads 12:35 a.m. He has another full day of lectures tomorrow, and he wants to get a decent night's sleep. Tammy turns to fill his order but he stops her with, "And how about some whipped cream on the pie this time? Erin loves whipped cream. She puts it on her nose. Don't ask me why."

Tammy smirks. "Kids need a reason to do things?"

Hawkeye laughs. By the time Tammy returns with his apple pie (topped with whipped cream) and the coffee pot to fill his cup again, a truck driver has come in, taking a break from the road and wanting a full meal. Tammy the waitress finally has real work to do.

After Hawkeye finishes his pie and coffee, he summons Tammy for the check. It's only a couple of bucks, but he hands her a $20 bill and tells her to keep the change.

"Oh no, Doctor!" she says, thrusting the money back at him. "I couldn't… that's too much."

He holds up his hands, refusing to take it back. "I needed somebody to talk to tonight, and you not only listened to me, you said all the right things. And you meant them. I got a bargain. Thank you, Tammy."

He's nearly out the door when she comes up behind him and puts a hand on his arm. "You'll see them soon," she says softly.

"I'm counting the hours," he tells her, and waves goodbye.

He jogs across the street to his hotel. Just one more day of the conference, then he can go home. It wasn't just a figure of speech… he really is counting the hours.


	48. Easily Distracted

**Easily Distracted**

_(A response to the prompt "numbers.")_

"We're supposed to be taking inventory," a breathless B.J. said in between persistent kisses.

"I _am_ taking inventory," Hawkeye insisted. "You have one upper lip, one lower lip, all the requisite teeth, and one very delicious tongue."

B.J. laughed softly against Hawkeye's busy mouth. "I _mean_, inventory of our supplies." He blindly tapped the clipboard on the floor at his side, with loads of forms attached, and only half of one filled out.

"Can't help it," Hawkeye said, now nibbling B.J.'s left earlobe. "I'm conditioned to get romantic in the supply room."

B.J. was pretty sure his left earlobe was an erogenous zone, because he heard himself moaning and he couldn't help it. Nevertheless, part of him was still coherent enough to object, "But you know that Col. Potter's going to ask if it's done… uhnnn." His train of thought completely derailed as Hawkeye breathed hotly into his ear. "Ohhh."

Hawkeye reached a hand underneath B.J.'s lab coat and olive-drab T-shirt, blindly finding a nipple and circling it with his thumb. His mouth moved to B.J.'s neck, licking, gently sucking.

B.J., past caring about inventory now, sank backward until he was lying on the dirty floor, Hawkeye sprawled over him, hands still exploring, lips still tasting. The clipboard was shoved unceremoniously aside.

* * *

"Hunnicutt?" Potter barked across the OR.

B.J. looked up from his patient. "Colonel?"

"Did you finish that inventory yesterday?"

"Uh…" B.J. immediately cast his eyes back down, pretending to be absolutely fascinated by his patient's bloody leg wound. "Well, _some_ of it's done. Not all of it, no."

He could feel Potter's disapproval even across the room. "After this OR session, you get back to it, you understand?"

"Sure, Colonel," B.J. said, properly chastised. "Of course."

Hawkeye, one table over from B.J., piped up, "I'll help you, Beej."

B.J. looked over at him and saw the sparkle of invitation in his eye. It made B.J.'s knees weak.

Good Lord, that inventory was _never_ going to get done.


	49. By Any Other Name

**By Any Other Name**

_(A response to the prompt "intimate." Sort of ties into the episode "Lil.")_

Only a few times in his life has B.J. resented having initials for a name.

For the most part, it hasn't been a particular problem. An oddity, of course… something that a new acquaintance might remark about or even chuckle over… but not really a big deal.

He does remember one time, as a child, being called "B.M." by some halfwit on the playground… and then giving the jerk a bloody nose. His mother had spanked him—hard—and he'd protested, "But he called me a name."

"Even so," his mom had reasoned, "you don't hit people, B.J. Never."

That incident aside, he hasn't really taken much grief over the years about his name, or lack thereof. Every now and then, he wished he had an _actual_ name, a word and not just a couple of letters, but he had nearly 30 years now to get used to the idea, and used to it he was.

There weren't many people who even attempted to give him a nickname, since B.J. already seemed like one. One of his buddies in high school had sometimes called him Beeker, for some unknown reason. B.J. hadn't liked it.

There were a few people—very few—who shortened B.J. into one syllable, making it Beej. Practical joker extraordinaire Leo Bardonaro had been one of them. Hawkeye, of course, was another.

Hawkeye, who was convinced that B.J. must stand for _something_ (Benito Juarez, perhaps). Hawkeye, who had sent telegrams out to B.J.'s friends and family, trying to get to the bottom of the non-name.

B.J. tried to tell him… "Just initials, Hawk. From my mother, Bea, and my father, Jay."

Hawkeye waved his hand, dismissing the truth. "Can't be. I don't believe it, Beej."

But B.J. it was, and had been all his life, and he was fine with it.

He thinks all this now, lying in Hawkeye's arms, listening to his breathing slowing. He can still hear "Beej" echoing in his brain, the raspy whisper of passion just moments ago… the sheer joy in that one syllable… the love in it.

_Beej… _

His wife has never once used that nickname… even if he gave her permission to call him that, she wouldn't do it, he's sure.

But Hawkeye… the way Hawkeye says it, not just in bed but anytime… it's like a shared secret. It feels intimate, it feels like something that's all their own.

And it is.

_Beej…_

He shuts his eyes, still replaying it in his mind, as his hand roams lazily over Hawkeye's chest. "I love you, Hawk," he mumbles.

"Love you too," Hawkeye whispers. A pause. Then, as if he knows exactly where B.J.'s thoughts have been, he adds, a smile in his voice:

"…Beej."


	50. Why?

**Why?**

_(A response to the prompt "curious." Post-war story.)_

Sometimes it seemed like Erin's "why?" phase was never going to end.

"Why do I have to eat my vegetables?" "Why do bees sting?" "Why do I have to go to bed now?"

It was enough to drive B.J. to drink. Oh, wait… too late.

And on this particular morning, his daughter was in _especially_ fine form. In overdrive. A veritable question machine.

"Hawkeye, why are we going this way?"

"Because it's the quickest way."

"Why do we need to go quick?"

"Because your daddy didn't drag his lazy ass out of bed on time this morning and now we're running behind."

"Why didn't daddy get up on time?"

B.J. tried not to be jealous that she asked Hawkeye her questions more often than she asked him. Or that they sometimes talked about him as though he weren't right there in the car with them.

Hawkeye replied, "Because your daddy's the type of person who likes to sleep late even when he knows he shouldn't."

B.J. felt compelled to add his two cents to the conversation. "Meanwhile, your _other_ daddy is acting like he's always Mr. Sunshine in the morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, when I think all of us know that's not quite true."

That shut everyone up. Momentarily, anyway.

Then, from the back seat: "Hawkeye, what does bright-eyed and bushy-tailed mean?"

And it just went on and on as B.J. drove to Peg's house, where they would drop Erin off and finally be free of the "why" monster for a couple of days.

Once the little urchin was deposited safely in her mother's arms, B.J. got back into the car and nearly collapsed behind the wheel. He looked over at Hawkeye. "It's not even 9 o'clock, and I'm wiped out. Don't all those questions—those _relentless_ questions—drive you nuts?"

Hawkeye just gave a shrug. "It's normal, Beej. She's curious. She wants to know _everything_. It's healthy."

B.J. leaned back and shut his eyes, just taking a moment. "Peace and quiet," he said. Hawkeye only laughed softly.

After a time, B.J. started the car and headed back to Mill Valley.

* * *

It was as if the weekend with her mother was merely a pause in the action. When B.J. and Hawkeye picked her up on Monday, Erin almost immediately started in on the questions again. Not even five minutes away from Peg's house, she absently kicked the back of B.J.'s seat and said, "It rained all day yesterday and I couldn't play outside and so we played games, but really I wanted to be outside. Hawkeye, why do we have to have rain?"

"So flowers and grass and things can grow."

Another kick. "Can't flowers and grass and things grow with sun?"

"They need both."

"But why?"

"Do you think _you_ could live if you never drank water?"

She gave this some thought. "I don't know." She sounded positively fascinated by the idea. "Can I try?"

Before Hawkeye could even say a word, B.J. barked, "No you cannot try." He took a deep breath, and then added, in a calmer voice, "Trust me, Erin, I'm a doctor, I know these things. You need water to live. So do the plants. So sometimes we get rain."

"Oh" came the small voice from the back seat.

"Do you think you can stop kicking the back of my seat, sweetie?"

She stopped. "OK."

They actually drove in silence for a few minutes before Erin piped up again. "Hawkeye, why is daddy so grumpy?"

B.J. would've shut his eyes out of frustration had he not been driving.

"I don't know, Erin," Hawkeye said, a teasing lilt to his voice. He turned from looking at their daughter in the back seat to face B.J. "Why are you so grumpy, Daddy?"

There was the cutest smile on Hawkeye's face, and Erin was giggling at the playfulness in Hawkeye's tone, and B.J. suddenly realized his crankiness was ridiculous. His kid was just being a kid, and his partner was being patient and loving, and how on earth could any of that be annoying?

"I'm sorry, guys," he said, making eye contact with Erin in the rear-view mirror. "I promise to stop being grumpy starting right now. I'm with my two favorite people in the universe and there's nothing at all to be grumpy about."

Hawkeye leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and—amazingly—what followed for miles was blissful silence. Except for the occasional kick at the back of B.J.'s seat.

* * *

Fortunately, they heard the pitter-patter of Erin feet a few seconds before the bedroom door was flung open, and they had time to hastily cover themselves with the blankets, or Erin might have had plenty of things to ask "why" about.

"Are you getting out of bed soon?" she asked instead of a polite "Good morning, Daddies," or an even more polite "I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Underneath the covers, B.J. disentangled from Hawkeye with as little fuss as possible. "In a minute, Erin." Hawkeye shifted and body parts brushed against each other, and it took all of B.J.'s concentration to remember what the question was. "Uh, do you think you can go into the kitchen and sit at the table and wait patiently while we get dressed?"

She shrugged. "I guess. Can I have pancakes for breakfast?"

Hawkeye mumbled, "Mmmm," but B.J. wasn't sure if that was in reference to the suggestion of pancakes, or something else entirely.

B.J. looked at Erin, tilted his head. "I think we can arrange that, yes."

"Goody!" she turned to go, but Hawkeye stopped her.

"Erin?" His voice was husky. B.J. recognized it as passion but Erin was likely to interpret it as sternness.

"Huh?"

"In the future, please don't come into our room unless you knock first, OK?"

B.J. could've predicted the response. "But why?"

"Because sometimes grownups need privacy."

"But why?"

Hawkeye opened his mouth, and B.J. said, "Careful, Hawk."

So Hawkeye paused for a long moment, crafting a suitable reply, and B.J. appreciated the restraint. Finally Hawk said, "Because it's our house and we make the rules. When you get older and have your own place, then you can make up the rules."

"I can't wait!" she declared, and stalked out of the room.

B.J. pulled Hawkeye close, nuzzling his neck, laughing softly. "Oh man," he murmured. "Neither can I."


	51. By the Light of the Silvery Moon

**By the Light of the Silvery Moon**

_(A response to the prompt "moon." Pre-relationship fic.)_

They were stumbling back to the Swamp after what seemed like an endless OR session—the sun had been shining and the day had been young the last time they'd been outside—when B.J. stopped, looked up into the sky, and observed, "Huh. Full moon tonight."

Hawkeye followed his gaze. "So it is," he said just before he let out an enormous yawn. "Well, you know what they say, Beej. The full moon brings a lot of craziness. Murder and suicide rates go up."

B.J. nodded. "More accidents, a rise in crime."

"And of course," Hawkeye added, "there's the whole werewolf thing."

B.J. chuckled. "Well, now that you mention it, Klinger _does_ seem to get a little hairier, yeah."

"I don't think that's possible." Hawkeye yawned again and stretched, arms reaching high as though he were trying to grab hold of that moon and bring it down to them. They stood there with their faces turned to the sky for a while, looking at the moon, contemplating its power. A weary smile came to B.J. When you gazed at something so beautiful, so serene, it was kind of hard to believe a war was going on. On a night like this, the moon seemed downright magical… full or not.

After a time, Hawkeye broke the silence. "I think it's true," he said softly.

"What's that, Hawk?"

"A full moon does make people do crazy things."

B.J. turned to him, seeing the glint in his eyes, the impish smile on his face. He was caught completely off-guard as Hawkeye leaned into him and planted a soft, brief, barely-there kiss on his lips.

B.J.'s heart thumped. All too soon Hawkeye gently pulled back, still smiling that mischievous smile, looking for all the world like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Neither of them said anything. Had B.J. been able to speak, he most likely would've asked, "What the hell was that all about?"

Or maybe not.

But since he couldn't manage to react at all, there was a long moment where the two of them simply stared at one another affectionately… words unspoken between them but still understood… as it always was for them.

Then Hawkeye's smile grew into a broad grin that lit up his eyes, and he announced, "I'm blaming it on the moon." He slung an arm around B.J.'s shoulders and steered him toward the Swamp, leaving the moon to work its magic on someone else.


	52. Doctor Dads

**Doctor Dads**

_(A response to the prompt "sick." Post-war story.)_

B.J. heard the front door open and close, followed by the squeak of one of Waggle's toys as Hawkeye evidently stepped on it. Damn dog always left his toys near the front door… Lord knew why. Did he think the toys might want to make a break for it?

"Beej," Hawkeye said softly as he came into the room behind B.J. "How is she?"

B.J. turned, gave him a smile. "Her temperature's down," he said with a sigh that was somewhere between relieved and weary. He looked down at Erin, who was fast asleep in her bed, blankets pulled up to her chin. "Only 100.6 now. She ate a little soup before she conked out."

Hawkeye approached him, putting an arm around his waist, kissing him on the cheek. "Glad to hear it," he said. "It's been a rough ride."

B.J. leaned into him and Hawkeye tightened the embrace. "You can say that again."

"It's been a rough—"

"Shut up, Hawk," B.J. smirked. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of being held, wanting nothing more than to go to their bedroom and lie down with Hawkeye and… well, he was tired, but he wasn't so tired that he would turn down some comfort sex if offered.

Then his daughter stirred in her sleep, and his eyes snapped open again, and he realized he was still on high alert.

"Beej, you're exhausted," Hawkeye said. "You've barely slept since Tuesday. Go to bed. I'll stay in here tonight and sleep in the chair… if she wakes up and needs something, I'll be here."

B.J. rocked ever so slightly against Hawkeye, just wanting the contact. His partner was right; he needed to get some real sleep. "Yeah, all right, Hawk. Thank you." He helped himself to a kiss but ended up yawning into Hawkeye's mouth. "Umm… sorry."

"Off to bed with you!" Hawkeye quietly demanded, pointing in the direction of the next room.

B.J. hesitated, looked down at his daughter again. For days, she'd been itchy, achy, feverish, fatigued… the poor kid had really been knocked down for the count this time. "Chicken pox," he said, as if he'd never seen a case of it before in his life. "No big deal, right? But man, this was tough."

"One of the most common illnesses a child can get," Hawkeye noted. "She's had a miserable few days, but we got her through it. Now we only have the mumps and measles to look forward to."

B.J. groaned, "Don't remind me."

"Guarantee she'll be a better mumps patient than Charles was," Hawkeye said, and they shared a laugh at that memory.

In the middle of his laugh, B.J. yawned again. His bed was calling him. He put a hand on Hawkeye's arm, told him, "Thanks for taking over, Hawk. She'll probably sleep through the night for a change. The worst seems to be over." He staggered to the door, whispered, "Good night."

"Night, Beej." Hawkeye settled on the chair near Erin's bed that had been B.J.'s domain for the past two nights.

B.J. shuffled to his and Hawkeye's room and without bothering to pull off his clothing, fell face-down onto the bed.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still awake. As exhausted as he was, he just couldn't sleep.

He stood, pulled the blanket off the bed, grabbed his and Hawkeye's pillows, and padded back to Erin's room.

He threw the pillows onto the floor and Hawkeye looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "We'll _both_ sleep in here tonight," B.J. said. "Floor's not the most comfortable place to sleep, but hell, we survived those Army cots, didn't we?"

Hawkeye smiled. "Floor's a piece of cake compared to those godawful things."

B.J. kicked some stuffed animals and dolls out of the way, then sprawled out on the floor. Hawkeye settled in next to him, pulling the blanket over them both, getting cozy. B.J. closed his eyes as Hawkeye spooned him, planting a light kiss on his shoulder.

"Good night, Hawk."

"Night, Beej."

They both drifted off to sleep in no time, while their daughter slept off her illness a few feet away.


	53. Playing the Part

**Playing the Part**

_(A response to the prompt "secrecy." Post-war story.)_

B.J. stopped in his tracks without warning the moment they entered the auditorium, and Hawkeye nearly smacked right into his back. "Hey—" Hawkeye started to say, then saw the reason for the sudden stoppage: the pudgy man standing in front of B.J., his arm extended, his grin enormous.

"Why hello, Dr. Hunnicutt!" the man said as B.J. shook his hand. "How wonderful to see you again! We are all so excited for Erin."

B.J. gave that famous Hunnicutt grin. "So are we," he said, though he didn't even glance in Hawkeye's direction as he used the plural pronoun. "I'm really looking forward to seeing her up there on stage. She's been very nervous, but I think she'll be fine."

The man laughed and nodded, and then finally seemed to notice Hawkeye standing there mutely next to B.J. The man's eyebrows shot up. "And who's this?"

B.J. quickly spoke up before Hawkeye could. "This is Hawkeye Pierce, he's a colleague of mine at the hospital. Good friend of the family. Hawk, this is the school principal, William Frankenfield."

Hawkeye managed to hold his tongue other than to say, "Nice to meet you" while his hand got pumped up and down.

"Well," Frankenfield replied, that smile of his never dimming in the slightest, "how nice that Erin has her own little cheering section in the audience tonight."

B.J. put a hand on Hawkeye's back, not-so-subtly steering him toward the seats, as he gave the garrulous principal a bit of a brush-off. "I'm sure all the children will be wonderful, Mr. Frankenfield. We're looking forward to it."

Fortunately the principal quickly got engaged in conversation with someone else as they made their escape. They chose seats in the third row, to have a good view of Erin but at the same time not embarrass her by sitting front-row center. Once they were settled, Hawkeye gave B.J. the look.

"What's that look for?" B.J. asked.

"Oh come on, Beej. You know," Hawkeye said, a petulant tone to his voice.

"Did you really expect to be introduced to the school principal as my lover? Boyfriend? The man I adore?" Suddenly B.J. looked around them, apparently realizing that he should lower his voice, seeing as people were starting to fill out the seats nearby. Doing just that, he added, "All of those descriptions are accurate, but you know perfectly well I can't confess that kind of thing to the principal."

Hawkeye folded his arms, though he knew that B.J. was right. Even so, it hurt to be called "good friend of the family." And "colleague from the hospital."

Had he been just a "colleague" last night, when the two of them made love well past midnight, their moans and sighs echoing around the bedroom, the mattress springs singing that beautiful rhythmic song?

Just a colleague, huh?

"Hawkeye?"

"Yes?"

"Would you look at me?"

He did, but kept his arms folded, kept the miffed expression on his face. "I love you. I'm sorry you have to play the part of 'family friend.' I wish it could be different."

After a moment, Hawkeye gave a reluctant nod. There was no point in being mad at B.J. It was out of the question for them to be open about their relationship with everyone. In fact, they rarely let _anyone_ know. A couple of people at the hospital… a few neighbors… their closest friends. Their love was not considered "normal" or "accepted," and therefore it had to be kept under wraps.

Life was so unfair.

"I know, Beej, I know," he finally said, undoing all the body language that conveyed his aggravation. "It's just…" He trailed off, looking in the direction of the stage, where in a few minutes the curtain would go up, and Erin would take on the starring role of Betsy Ross in the second-grade play. "She's my little girl, too."

"Yes she is," B.J. agreed, "and she knows it."

"Who showed her how to hold the pretend sewing needle?"

"You did, Hawk."

"Who rehearsed her lines with her last night?"

"You did, Hawk."

He turned to look at B.J. "I'm her daddy, too."

Hawkeye watched as B.J.'s eyes misted up and he swallowed visibly. "You absolutely are," B.J. said in a near whisper. "She adores you and so do I."

Now Hawkeye was starting to feel bad, getting B.J. all upset over something that was not his fault. He _had_ to pretend they were just friends… he had no choice… Hawkeye knew that. He put a hand on B.J.'s arm, saying, "Shit, Beej, I'm sorry. I adore you too, and this masquerade is not your fault—"

"Or my choice."

"—or your choice, and I understand that." He gave a smile, wishing he could give an apologetic kiss instead, but that would have to wait. "Forget it. Forget I was ever peeved. Let's just sit here and enjoy the hell out of Erin's performance."

B.J. returned the smile and nodded, echoing something they'd been telling Erin for days: "Our future Broadway star!"

As if on cue, the lights went down then, and the curtain rose, and Erin Hunnicutt took center stage, magically transformed into Betsy Ross, albeit much shorter.

"I'm going to sew the American flag!" she proclaimed in her little-girl voice.

Then she abruptly stopped as she caught sight of her dads in the third row, and she waved. Hawkeye and B.J. waved right back.

OK, so she'd have to work on her professionalism before Broadway beckoned. No matter. Hawkeye was maybe a little biased, but he thought she was the best Betsy Ross he'd ever seen.


	54. Lesson Learned

**Lesson Learned**

_(A response to the prompt: base your story on the name of a cocktail. For the cocktail I chose, please note the last four words.)_

The rest of the hotel slept quietly around them as they returned to their room just after 2 in the morning. Shutting the door behind them, Hawkeye snapped on the light, still uncomfortable, pulling at his clothing, mumbling under his breath. He took off his shirt and shook it out violently. Sand flew everywhere.

Meanwhile, B.J. was doing some pretty strange-looking contortions over on his side of the room, looking for all the world like he had ants in his pants. Finally he just gave up and pulled his jeans off, shaking them out like Hawkeye'd done with his shirt.

"I think you're going to need to strip a little further than that, Beej," Hawkeye said helpfully, undoing his own fly as he said it.

B.J. wriggled a little more, grimacing, and then finally did take off his boxers, looking a little silly standing there wearing a shirt but nothing below. He shook his head. "Hell with it," he said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. "This calls for a thorough shower." Finally naked, he grinned over at Hawkeye. "Care to join me?"

"You're right," Hawkeye conceded, "that's probably the only way to solve this problem." He yanked off his pants, boxers and socks, then followed B.J. to the bathroom, voicing his discomfort the whole time. "Good Lord, there's sand _everywhere_," he grumbled.

"Well, now we know."

They exchanged a look, both of them thinking exactly the same thing.

This would teach them to have sex on the beach.


	55. WakeUp Call

**Wake-Up Call**

_(A response to the prompt "About last night…" Post-war story.)_

Peg watched as B.J. shuffled into the kitchen, one hand on his head as if to keep it attached to his body, and sat down at the table with a thump. He looked terrible. Mostly because of the hangover, sure, but in her more honest moments, she thought he looked unappealingly unkempt all the time now. The B.J. who'd gone off to war had been so clean-cut. She didn't like how long he kept his hair now, and she most definitely did not like the moustache. But he didn't want to shave it off just yet, he told her repeatedly, always with a wistful smile on his face. She had a feeling he never would.

She just kept watching him as she sipped her coffee, not saying anything, not offering to get him breakfast. He rubbed at his eyes, letting out a small groan, and blinked at her. "Good morning," he mumbled.

She took another sip. "Is it?"

That brought a smirk to his lips. "I guess I've had better."

Deciding she could be mature about this whole thing, Peg stood and poured him a cup of coffee. He murmured a "Thanks" when she set it down in front of him, and she returned to her seat opposite him at the table. And waited.

He only drank his coffee in silence, still wincing every now and then at an apparent headache. Finally she came to the conclusion that she was going to have to be the one to bring it up.

"B.J.," she said carefully, slowly, "about last night…"

He interrupted her, placing his hand on top of hers on the table, "Oh God, Peggy, I'm sorry."

She waited for more, but that was apparently the end of it. She couldn't believe that was all he had to say on the subject. "And… that's all? You're sorry and that's all?"

He blinked again. It seemed that every little thing he did required great effort, including normal bodily functions like blinking and breathing. "I'm _very_ sorry?" His mouth curved into an apologetic smile. "I got a little drunk at the party and I embarrassed you. I know how much you hate that. Didn't I say something…? Oh yeah, I told Doris that her chocolate cake tasted like sludge. I'm sorry, honey, that was really rude—"

"Wait, _that's_ what you're apologizing for?"

"—I promise I'll call her later and tell her I'm sorry for my boorish behavior. And I'll tell her the cake was fine—"

"B.J.," Peg stopped him, standing up from the table, looking down at him in utter astonishment. "_That's_ what you're apologizing for?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Is there something else? Did I throw up on their rug or something? I'd remember that, I would think…"

Peg whirled around so she wouldn't have to look at him any longer, and so he wouldn't see the expression on her face. He didn't remember…?

His drunken behavior at the party had been a little on the embarrassing side, sure, but she actually hadn't minded as much as he thought. It was a deadly dull party, and Doris and Tom weren't exactly great friends of theirs anyway, and Peg sort of shrugged the whole thing off. Her husband wasn't a disgusting or mean drunk… he only ran at the mouth a little more than usual when he was under the influence, and the comment about the cake was really his only faux pas of the night. No… the party wasn't at issue here.

It was what happened after they'd gotten home and crawled into bed. Despite being beyond tipsy, B.J. wanted to make love, which was something else about him that'd changed since the war. He used to zonk out after drinking too much. Last night, though, he'd been amorous from the moment they sent the babysitter home, his hands all over Peg as she walked around closing windows, locking doors. "C'mon, baby," he'd whispered, his mouth at her ear, "c'mon… bed."

She'd been willing, even though she imagined that it wouldn't be a particularly satisfying experience on her end… but he'd had a lot more energy and stamina than she would've guessed. It was quite nice… being able to make love with her husband again, after so long without him, was still a bit of a novelty. It was _more_ than nice, it was actually wonderful… warm and sweet and passionate…

And then her entire world shattered as her husband said "Hawkeye" when he came.

Or, to be more accurate, "Oh Christ, Hawkeye… love you…"

Peg could not move or speak. She couldn't even breathe for a long moment.

He rolled off of her and his eyes were closed and there was a gratified smile on his face, but he didn't say anything more. She watched him descend into sleep, stunned, horrified, hurt beyond words.

And now… well, now B.J. sat at her kitchen table not even remembering that he'd done such a thing… not having any idea what was on her mind… thinking, in fact, that she was mad he had insulted a friend's chocolate cake.

Her back was still to him and his voice came up behind her, soft and contrite, "Peg? Is there something else you're upset about?"

She took a deep breath and regained her composure, then pasted a weak smile on her face as she turned to look at him. "Never mind, B.J.," she managed to say, waving a hand. "It's nothing."

She must've sounded convincing. He accepted her words without hesitation, standing up and giving her a kiss on the cheek, then putting his empty coffee cup into the sink. She watched him leave the kitchen, presumably to go shower, and she felt sick to her stomach.

Her life was suddenly turned upside-down and inside-out. Her husband wasn't the man she thought he was… her seemingly perfect marriage was in trouble.

That wasn't nothing. It was everything.


	56. Change of Plans

**Change of Plans**

_(A response to the prompt "rainy day in Tokyo.")_

"You're too thin," B.J. said softly, running his hand up Hawkeye's side, tracing ribs with his fingers.

Hawkeye halted B.J.'s roaming hand with his own. "It's that gourmet cuisine they feed us back at camp. Mmm, green meatloaf. Brown peas. Yum."

B.J. didn't laugh—maybe it was too close to the truth to be funny. He didn't say anything in response. He just rolled out of bed, pulled his bathrobe on, and went over to the window. Hawkeye turned onto his side to stare, because even though B.J. had covered up his nakedness, he was still quite something to stare at.

They were in Tokyo on R&R, but it'd been raining since they got here four hours ago. So instead of taking in the sights, they'd taken to their hotel room. Even if it _hadn't_ been raining when they arrived, the first order of business probably would've been bed anyway. Tokyo afforded them privacy that they could never find back at camp, and they were always eager to take advantage of it.

But even a couple of guys as randy as they were eventually ran out of gas, and by now Hawkeye was wishing they could get out onto the Ginza, take a stroll, grab some food, find a bar. Unfortunately, a look out the window confirmed the rain was still coming down in torrents.

B.J. merely stood there looking out. He seemed melancholy. You would think all that sex would put him in a happy, if not ecstatic, place, but for some reason, he was quiet and introspective.

Guilt? Hawkeye figured B.J. was consumed by guilt more often than he let on. Hell, he had every reason to be. What he was doing was adultery, pure and simple.

Hawkeye was startled out of his thoughts when B.J. said, without turning away from the window, "Do you ever wonder why we met?"

It was unsettling, that B.J. wasn't looking at him. The whole vibe in the room was suddenly disconcerting. Was a breakup coming? Hawkeye propped himself up on an elbow, still staring at his lover. He tried for levity. "I think we met because the Army sent us both draft notices and assigned us to the same camp."

B.J. finally turned back to him, taking a seat on the windowsill. He was quiet for a long moment, just looking over at Hawkeye, who was stretched out on the bed in all his naked glory. Hawkeye almost started to think he should cover up, but he didn't know why the thought occurred to him. He didn't move. Finally B.J. said, "I think we meet the people in life that we're _supposed_ to meet." He tilted his head, a wry smile on his face. "Fate… what's meant to be… all that stuff. Too off-the-wall for you?"

Hawkeye shrugged. "I don't really think about it," he said truthfully.

"And when I met you," B.J. continued after a brief pause, "I thought: _why now?_ I mean, maybe not that first day. I was too busy being scared out of my skull, and then we were too busy trying to survive the ride back to camp. But at some point in that first week or so, there was this realization—this understanding—that you and I were supposed to meet. And I wondered: why now?"

Hawkeye wasn't quite following, but he didn't interrupt. B.J. seemed to need to do this stream-of-consciousness monologue, to get whatever was on his mind out in the open.

"Don't you see?" B.J. asked. "I was a brand-new father with a wife I adored, I'd waited my entire life to get to that point… family man, house in the suburbs, white picket fence. And then out of the blue, the whole thing's turned upside down because I meet this guy." A beat, then, quietly: "My soul mate."

Hawkeye's heart was pounding. The two of them had said "I love you" to each other before, but he'd never heard this kind of talk from B.J. _Soul mate._ Hawkeye thought it sounded right… maybe a little fanciful and idealistic… but strangely right. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"I _knew_, Hawk. I knew before you did. I met you, and it didn't take long before it was clear to me that everything was going to change. My entire life." Now B.J. stood and turned again to stare at the rain coming down outside the window.

After only a brief hesitation, Hawkeye got out of bed and went over to him, putting his arms around B.J. from behind. He felt like he was treading on dangerously thin ice. All those beautiful words from B.J., like poetry… but through it all, Hawkeye couldn't discern his mood. He couldn't shake the absurd feeling that this was somehow leading up to an "it's been fun, but…" speech.

He leaned into B.J., putting his mouth to his ear. "Do you wish," he said carefully, "that Fate had just kept her big fat nose out of your life?"

B.J. laughed softly and Hawkeye felt it vibrate through his body. He shut his eyes and smiled. Laughter could only be a good sign. "Fate always seems to be right, Hawk. That's the conclusion I've come to. Her timing is sometimes shitty, I grant you… but in the end, she's right."

His embrace tightening, Hawkeye rocked them back and forth a little, loving the feeling of the strong, solid man in his arms. "Yeah," he said, his eyes still closed, his mouth against B.J.'s neck, muffling the words. "She is."

They stood like that in silence for a while, listening to the rain falling and each other's breathing. Then Hawkeye mumbled, "Let's go outside and take a walk in the rain, Beej. What d'ya think?"

There was amusement in B.J.'s voice as he said, "I think that sounds kind of crazy. But crazy is one of the things I love about you. So what the hell."

He turned in Hawkeye's arms and gave him a kiss on the mouth. They began to get dressed in companionable silence, and as Hawkeye shrugged into his T-shirt, he stole a glance over at B.J. Best friend. Lover. Soul mate.

He smiled to himself. Now was as good a time as any to start believing in fate.


	57. A Late Night Stroll

**A Late-Night Stroll **

_(A response to the prompt "hometown." Post-war story.)_

"And there? Where the deli is? That used to be an ice cream parlor," Hawkeye said with a wistful smile. "When I was a kid, that was the most popular place in all of Crabapple Cove. I'm tellin' ya, they had the best cones…" He trailed off, looking like he was practically salivating at the memory.

B.J. felt brave enough to slip his hand into Hawkeye's as they walked. It was dark out and they seemed to have the street to themselves. "You love this town," he said, stating the obvious.

Hawkeye looked him in the eye. "I can't imagine living anywhere else. Those three years in Korea? I missed this place like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh, I believe it. I was there, remember?" He grinned, gripping Hawkeye's hand just a little tighter.

"Never wanted to live anywhere else," Hawkeye continued, as though somebody had challenged his last comment. "This is where I belong, Beej."

He stopped walking then, and B.J. faced him, seeing something like pleading in his eyes. "I want you to love it here," Hawkeye said. "I want you to love this town as much as I do."

B.J. kissed him softly on the mouth. "I'll bet I can do that," he said.

"I know I'm asking a hell of a lot of you, to leave Mill Valley, to leave the west coast. That's where _you've_ been your whole life. Where your daughter is." His eyes had teared up a little, and now he cast his gaze away, looking first down the street and then across the street. A car drove past and the driver apparently recognized Hawkeye and honked the horn. Hawkeye waved absently. His focus came back to B.J. as he said, "I don't know how I can ask you to leave your entire life and move here with me. It doesn't seem right…"

"Hawkeye," B.J. said gently. "We've talked about this. I love you, and more than anything, I want to be with you. Crabapple Cove is a part of you, and if this is where you want to be, then it's where I want to be too. We'll work out visiting arrangements with Erin. I've told you, my home is wherever you are."

He waited while Hawkeye let that sink in. He'd certainly heard it a few times before; it was an ongoing concern that B.J. had to repeatedly address, but sooner or later, Hawk would believe it. Eventually Hawkeye nodded, leaned in for a quick kiss, and then once more took hold of B.J.'s hand as they continued their stroll down Broad Street.

"This place here?" Hawkeye said, gesturing to their left. "This was a shoe store before it was a thrift store. It was a big deal to come here and buy new shoes. Usually it meant that a holiday was right around the corner and I needed to have nice shoes for church or family gatherings or something…"

B.J. mumbled "Mmm hmmm" at the right places and listened to the nostalgia in his lover's voice as he talked about his idyllic childhood. He found himself wishing he'd grown up here too. Everything about this town seemed magical… like it was from another time… safe and tranquil… the perfect place to be a kid.

Perfect place to be an adult, too. After all, he was going to be making a life with Hawkeye. Couldn't get any more perfect than that.


	58. Insight

**Insight**

_(A response to the prompt "eyes." Post-war story.)_

As soon as B.J. stepped inside the house, he smelled the unmistakable aroma of chicken cacciatore. Hawkeye's specialty. Always delicious… and a little mysterious. Hawk did something with the spices that he refused to disclose. B.J.'s mouth instantly started to water.

"Hey Hawk," he said as he headed into the kitchen. "When's supper?"

Hawkeye turned from the stove long enough to accept a hello kiss. "Hold your horses. It'll be ready when it's ready. In the meantime… your daughter has some news."

B.J.'s eyebrows went up. "Oh damn, that's right. She had that eye doctor appointment this afternoon. Is she… was everything all right?"

Hawkeye stopped stirring and faced B.J., wiping his hands on the dishtowel draped over his shoulder. "Beej, she needs glasses."

B.J.'s smile faded. "What? At her age?"

Hawkeye nodded, putting a hand on B.J.'s arm. "She was upset at first. But I think she's adjusting to the idea. She seemed to enjoy picking out the frames…"

B.J. sighed. "Shit. The poor kid. Lemme go talk to her."

Hawkeye gestured absently toward the stairs. "She's been in her room since we got home." As B.J. headed in that direction, Hawkeye called after him, "Supper in about 15 minutes!"

B.J. rapped lightly on Erin's bedroom door and then entered. She was sitting on the floor playing with her dolls. "Hey, darlin'. How's it going?"

"OK," she said with a shrug. She didn't look at him.

He took a seat on her bed, facing her, but her attention was focused on her dolls. "I'm sorry I had to work and couldn't go along to the eye doctor with you."

Again she shrugged.

"Hawkeye tells me that you need glasses." He said it tentatively, not sure how she was going to react.

Finally she lifted her lashes and looked at him. "Yeah. I'm going to be a four-eyes. People at school will make fun of me."

B.J. shook his head firmly. "They won't. Erin, a lot of people need to wear glasses. It's not that terrible a thing."

"You don't need glasses," she correctly pointed out. "Hawkeye doesn't need glasses."

"Well, that's true. But there are plenty of people who do. Uncle Radar does. You remember when you met him?"

She nodded, but she was back to playing with her dolls.

"You'll be able to see the blackboard at school a whole lot better," he pointed out.

"I guess," she said.

B.J. followed her gaze and really took a look at her dolls for the first time. "Honey," he said after a moment, "do you know that you have Ken holding hands with G.I. Joe? Where's Barbie?"

"Ken likes G.I. Joe better than Barbie," Erin said matter-of-factly.

Oh. Well who could blame him? B.J. studied the unlikely couple. There was a contentment in Ken's expression that B.J. recognized. "OK," he said, dropping the subject, deciding to leave Ken and G.I. Joe to their happily ever after. "So you picked out some neat frames and they ordered your glasses? When do we pick them up?"

"In a week."

"OK then," he said with a single clap of his hands, "the day we go get them, you and I and Hawkeye will go out to eat at any restaurant you want. Completely your choice. How does that sound?"

She nodded but not with much enthusiasm. "All right." She said it as if it would be a chore. As if he'd suggested they'd run a marathon or something.

He lifted her chin to get her to look at him. "Erin, wearing glasses isn't really a big deal. You'll see. After a while, you won't even think about them." He smiled, then changed tack. "What kind of frames did you pick out?"

She made oval shapes with her hands to show him. "They're brown," she said. He detected a small note of excitement in her voice. Apparently the frames met with her approval.

"I'll bet they're going to look really good on you," he enthused, helping her to her feet. "All right, young miss. It's just about time for supper, so go and wash up, OK? Hawkeye's famous chicken cacciatore!"

"Oh goodie!" she said. Hawkeye's cooking had that effect on people. Well… sometimes. Other times, especially when he got experimental, it could make for an unpredictable experience. B.J. and Erin knew by now to have a full pitcher of ice water on the table just in case.

But the chicken cacciatore was outstanding, as it always was, and then the three of them made ice cream sundaes for dessert. Erin got giggling out of control when Hawkeye sprayed whipped cream in B.J.'s direction and hit him squarely on the forehead.

After the table was cleared and B.J. began to wash the dishes, Hawkeye went to the telephone on the kitchen wall and dialed. "Erin?" he called out after a while, holding out the receiver. "Uncle Radar is on the phone. He wants to talk to you about wearing glasses. Is that OK?"

B.J. turned to watch as she came into the room, her expression one of interest. "OK," she said, taking the phone from Hawkeye. Into the receiver, she said, "Uncle Radar? Are the other kids going to call me names?"

Hawkeye winked at B.J. as he came to the sink to dry the dishes. B.J. leaned over and kissed him, deliberately splashing a little soapy water in his direction. "Thank you, Hawk," he whispered.

"For helping with the dishes, or for calling Radar?"

B.J. gave him another kiss, lingering this time. "For every damn thing you do," he said. Then they got back to the dishes and pretended not to listen to their daughter talking on the phone behind them.

_

* * *

_

_(Anachronism alert: Apparently neither Ken nor G.I. Joe existed yet in the 1950s. I'm hoping you'll join me in overlooking this small detail.)_


	59. Just a Friendly Game

**Just a Friendly Game**

_(A response to the prompt "cheated.")_

"Nothing like a game of strip poker to bring out the competitor in you," B.J. said with derision.

"Come on, Beej. You lost that hand, you gotta take it off."

B.J. sighed. He was down to exactly one piece of clothing: his boxers. Nothing else to take off, not even his dog tags, which had gone after the last hand. Worst of all was the leer on Hawkeye's face as he anticipated the nakedness to come.

"What are you waiting for?" Hawkeye said with an impatient wave. "Strip!"

"It's not fair," B.J. protested. Despite the complaint, he reluctantly stood and stepped out of his boxers.

"Of course it is, this is strip poker."

"But you cheated!"

"I find it hard to believe you're really upset about that," Hawkeye said with a grin as he peeled off the rest of his own clothes and tackled B.J. to his cot.


	60. Check Mate

**Check Mate**

_(A response to the prompt "game" or "games." Ties in to the episode "Dear Peggy"—specifically the tag. Pre-slash.)_

Hawkeye studied the chessboard, his attention admittedly divided. Part of him was planning strategy, truly wanting to win the game, fierce competitor that he was. But another part of him was distracted by the man sitting across from him, as was so often the case these days. B.J. had certainly gotten under his skin, and pretty damn quickly, too. Young, innocent B.J., a bright light in the drab existence that was the Korean War. Fresh-faced, charming, handsome. Hawkeye had found he'd do or say almost anything to see the man's dazzling smile.

Like now, for instance. When B.J. asked where he'd learned his latest chess move, he made up some crazy story about a Mrs. Lapinsky in Vienna… from whom he also caught hairy legs, incidentally. He didn't even know what he was saying, it was practically gibberish coming out of his mouth, but all that mattered was the result. That beaming smile from B.J. The one that nearly stopped his heart every time.

The thing was, while Hawkeye's attention was divided, he knew that B.J.'s was even more so. In between chess moves, Hunnicutt was finishing a letter to his wife. Hawkeye would look at the notepad with something like contempt in his heart, thinking ridiculously selfish thoughts like, _Don't be thousands of miles away, Beej… be here with me…_

But of course, B.J. seemed to _always_ be mostly in Mill Valley, California… his mind with his family halfway around the world while his body merely went through the motions in South Korea. Hawkeye certainly couldn't blame him, but that didn't stop him from feeling neglected and jealous.

"Check," B.J. said then, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Oh," Hawkeye said, turning his gaze back to the chessboard, then quickly and deftly moving his king out of harm's way.

His fast response meant that B.J. couldn't return to his letter right away. Hawkeye smiled, as if that were some kind of small victory. God, how pitiful was he, anyway? Pleased with the idea that he was keeping his best friend from writing home.

No, not keeping him from writing home. Only delaying the inevitable.

He watched as B.J.'s eyes roamed the board, planning his next move. Hawkeye couldn't help the staring. It was one of the reasons he broke out the chessboard as often as he did. Sure, it was great to play with someone who was good at the game, who gave him a challenge. But mainly he did it because it gave him the opportunity to stare.

And when B.J. wore the gray short-sleeved sweatshirt, like today, well then so much the better.

Hawk leaned back in his chair, awaiting B.J.'s move, thinking, _Oh take your time, there, pal. It's a beautiful day and I have this beautiful man here in front of me, and really, I couldn't be more content right now… which is a truly frightening thought to have, since I'm in the middle of a goddamn war, after all. But I won't deny it. I'm happy right now, right here, playing chess and watching you. _

B.J. looked up from the board suddenly, flashing another of those 1000-watt smiles, and Hawkeye titled his head. "What?"

In answer, B.J. moved his queen a few squares, held his finger on top of it for a couple of seconds, and then sat back, announcing, "Check and mate."

Then he picked up that blasted notepad again, and went back to writing the missus, as if his train of thought had never been interrupted.

And Hawkeye sighed, looking at his trapped, defeated king on the board. Surrounded by knights and pawns and bishops, but seemingly all alone.

_Yeah,_ he thought… _I know just how you feel._


	61. A Simple Request

**A Simple Request**

_(A response to the prompt "disappointed.") _

Erin looked up from her meat loaf and corn and said, as solemnly as if she were announcing a failing grade in school, "I would like to have a baby sister."

It was such a non sequitur that both B.J. and Hawkeye stopped in mid-bite and blinked at her. Then something clicked in B.J.'s mind, and he turned to Hawkeye. "Her friend Cathy DeMarco just got a new baby sister."

Hawkeye nodded, resumed chewing his food, and swallowed. "I see."

Facing Erin across the table, B.J. said, "Well, Erin, I think that's something you're going to have to talk to your mommy and Joe about. Hawkeye and I can't help you with a baby sister."

She put her fork down, frowning. "Why not?"

"Because," he said patiently, "it takes a mommy and a daddy to have a baby. The last time I looked, Hawkeye and I were both daddies."

Hawkeye choked briefly on his meat loaf, then sputtered out a laugh. "I believe that's still the case," he said with a smirk. "But tonight we ought to double-check, just to make sure."

B.J. laughed too, exchanging a look with Hawkeye. Thank God the vast majority of their racy remarks went over Erin's head. Someday she'd start to catch on to their innuendo… but hopefully that day was a long way away.

Erin was still eyeing them dubiously. "I can't have a baby sister?"

B.J. reached over and placed his hand on hers. "I'm sorry, honey. Maybe you can, but that's something for your mommy to decide. Hawkeye and I… we love you, and we would love any baby sister that your mommy gave you—or baby brother for that matter. But we can't be the ones to… supply it," he finished lamely. It was awfully hard to explain this, given her age, and he'd gotten in over his head so quickly that he hadn't even been aware of it.

Luckily, even though he saw disappointment in her expression, she didn't push it. "OK," she said, looking down at her meat loaf but not touching it.

B.J. glanced at Hawkeye, who raised his eyebrows in a nonverbal "What else can we say?" B.J. nodded back, and while Erin was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the meal, and ate little, the subject was dropped.

* * *

"You going to mention to Peg that Erin wants a baby sister?" Hawkeye asked that night as he crawled into bed.

B.J. finished undressing and tossed his boxers onto the pile of discarded clothes. "I'll probably mention it, but I don't think she's interested in having any more children. Of course, she might be… it's not like she tells me stuff like that anymore."

He got into bed, stretching out next to Hawkeye, who pointed at their nude bodies. "We are indeed two daddies," he confirmed.

B.J. laughed. "Smartass."

"I feel bad for Erin," Hawkeye said, running a hand through the hair on B.J.'s chest. "Poor girl wants a sister. Perfectly normal thing for a kid to want."

B.J. put a hand behind his head, staring up into Hawkeye's face. "I know, but the thing is, she'll forget about it soon enough. Right now, it's what she thinks she wants. Because her friend Cathy just got one. But in a couple days, it'll be, 'I want a new doll' or 'I want a new bike.' Attention spans on kids… they are notoriously short."

"Hope you're right," Hawkeye said, leaning in for a kiss. "Because that forlorn look at the dinner table? Tore my heart to pieces."

B.J. smiled. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger."

"I'm tellin' ya, I was trying to figure out how to give birth right then and there."

"Would've been a neat trick." B.J. reached up and put his hand behind Hawkeye's neck, pulling him down for a kiss, offering his tongue for tasting. When he could, he said, "We'll buy her a new bike this weekend, all right? That make you feel better?"

Hawkeye buried his face in B.J.'s neck, nuzzling, placing light kisses there. "If that's the best we can do…" he said.

B.J. rubbed Hawkeye's shoulder, closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly, and he was surprised by the sudden wave of melancholy that overcame him. "I'm afraid it is."


	62. Girl Talk

**Girl Talk**

_(A response to the prompt "hair." Post-war fic.)_

"Hi, Margaret!" Erin exclaimed as she opened the door to her guest. "Come on in!"

"Erin, look at you! You've gotten so big!" Margaret said, putting her bags down just inside the door so she could pull the youngster into a warm embrace. Except that "youngster" would soon become an obsolete term; this kid was growing up, and fast. Margaret sighed. It seemed like just yesterday that B.J. was talking about his little baby turning 2. Now she had to be… "How old are you by now?" she asked as she held Erin at arm's length.

"Just turned 12 last month!" she said proudly. And like the maturing young lady she was, she gestured at the living room and said, "Come in already and make yourself at home. My dads aren't home yet, but they should be on their way soon. They said I should entertain you."

Margaret placed her bags in the hallway where nobody would trip over them and took a look around the living room, which didn't seem all that different from the last time she'd visited, although that'd been a couple years ago now. "I wish I could get out here to visit more often," she said. "How are things, Erin? How's school? You doing all right?"

"Oh, sure. Straight A's in school," she said with a shrug, as if those A's came effortlessly to her… and they probably did, if she had her dad's brains. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Hey! Can I style your hair while we wait for my dads to come home? Please?" And before Margaret had a chance to answer, the girl was pulling her by the hand into her bedroom. "Come in here and sit down. I just love your hair, Margaret! Can I curl it? Give it some body?"

Margaret sat down in the offered desk chair, her hands automatically going to her hair. "It doesn't have body?"

"Well, I want to give it some curl. Can I?" Erin was already reaching for a hairbrush, and Margaret took note of a nearby curling iron. "I really like styling hair… I've been thinking I want to be a hairdresser when I grow up."

Margaret frowned. "I thought you were going to be a nurse."

Erin stood in front of her and ran her fingers through the hair framing her face, just getting the feel of it. She shrugged. "I'm not sure," she said. "Couldn't I do both? Like be a nurse some days and a hairdresser other days?"

Margaret laughed. "Well, most people pick one career, Erin," she said slowly. But who was she to rain on the kid's parade?

"And then sometimes I think I'd like to be a vet. I like dogs."

"Well, you have plenty of time to decide on your career." Erin was behind her now, brushing her hair, taking gentle and deliberate strokes. "I can't believe you're 12 already. That's just… well, time flies, that's all I can say."

"Geez, I'm not _that_ old. I don't have a boyfriend yet," Erin said matter-of-factly.

Margaret grinned. "I should hope not! Twelve is too young for that."

Erin, still brushing her hair from behind, said, "Do you think? My friend Becky has a boyfriend and she's 12. But they don't even kiss. I've seen them holding hands, but Becky says she doesn't want to kiss him." The brush started going a little faster as Erin got more involved in what she was saying than what she was doing. "And we know this older girl, Jenny? She's a few years older than us, and she was telling Becky and me about sex. Like, what a boy and girl do when they have sex. You know?"

"I'm familiar with it," Margaret said. She suddenly wished Hawkeye and B.J. would get home. This was parenting territory… wasn't it? "You shouldn't even be thinking about sex at your age, Erin. You're much too young."

"It sounded disgusting to me!" Erin declared. "I wouldn't want to do it. It sure didn't sound like something that would be fun."

Margaret smiled, choosing her words carefully. "Well, when you get older, when you get to an appropriate age and you find some boy that you love, trust me… it won't be disgusting then. It will feel right, under the right circumstances." There… that seemed like a good thing to say. She was feeling more comfortable about the conversation now… more sure-footed.

Erin picked up the curling iron and plugged it in. "I can't tell my dads that I know all about sex," she said then. "They would probably flip out. I'm glad you're here to talk to." Then Erin was behind her again, using the curling iron. Margaret had to wonder what this kid was doing to her hair, but she figured if it turned out to be hideous, she would simply wash the style right out of it.

"I'm pretty sure you can talk to your dads about anything," she said.

"Oh, I guess so. But they wouldn't understand about boy-girl stuff."

Margaret laughed. "Sure they would. Both of them used to have relationships with women… both of them used to have sex with women."

"Eww!" Erin replied. "I sure didn't need to picture _that_!"

"Well where do you think _you_ came from, Erin? Your dad was married to your mom, and voila! Erin was born from that union."

She could sense Erin shrugging behind her. "I can't even remember when they were married."

The curling iron moved to another section of Margaret's hair. She admitted, "I have to tell you, Erin, when I first heard about your dads becoming… well, a couple… I never would've imagined it would last as long as it has. Their relationship is for real, but when I first found out, it was shocking. Hawkeye used to be a Casanova with the ladies. He worked his way through most of the nurses in our camp."

"Yeah?" Erin paused. "Even you? Did you date him?"

Margaret nodded. "Very briefly," she said, deciding not to elaborate that it wasn't so much "dating" as "having a one-night stand." The kid didn't need to know _everything_.

"Really?" Erin laughed then, and Margaret's brow furrowed as she wondered what was so funny. "I can't picture that."

"Well, like I said, it was brief. We didn't make a good couple. And anyway, eventually Hawkeye figured out that your dad was the right person for him. I'm happy for both of them."

"They're really disgusting sometimes," Erin moaned. "The other night I got tired of doing homework in my room, so I went out to the living room to watch TV? And there they were, on the couch, making out like crazy. I mean, they were going at it pretty heavy, hands everywhere. I told them to go to their bedroom, I didn't want to see it! And Hawkeye said, 'What a great idea!' and off they went. I turned up the TV really loud."

Margaret burst out laughing. "I don't know, that seems sweet, if you ask me. They still have passion, after all these years."

"They're disgusting," Erin reiterated, but Margaret could hear the smile in her voice. This kid had always adored both of her dads, even when she occasionally found them exasperating.

They heard the front door open then, and Hawkeye's voice boomed out, "Margaret? You can't hide! We saw your car out front!"

Despite all her complaining over the last few minutes, Erin squealed at the sound of her dads coming home. "She's in here, Hawkeye! I'm doing her hair!"

Margaret reached up and tugged at some of the new curls in her hair, wishing she could get a look in a mirror. "Don't come in!" she called out. "I'm not sure I'm presentable!"

Erin made _tsk-tsk_ sounds. "You don't trust me? Your hair looks great!" She stepped in front of Margaret and stared at the results from the front. "It really looks nice, you'll like it."

Margaret stood, wanting to get from Erin's room to the bathroom to take a look at her new 'do before the guys could get a glimpse. "Thanks for the style, Erin," she said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Thank _you_ for the talk, Margaret," Erin said almost shyly.

There was something in her tone of voice that gave Margaret pause. She put her concerns about her hair on hold for the moment, and said sincerely, "Listen, you can talk to me anytime, Erin. About anything. I'm always just a phone call away, you hear?"

Erin smiled and nodded, and Margaret understood that even though this kid had two loving fathers and one loving mother… she still sometimes had a need for good ol' Auntie Margaret. And that was a pretty terrific feeling.

Opening the bedroom door cautiously, Margaret called out, "Hang on, guys! Be right with you!" And then she made a mad dash to the bathroom to get a look at her hair.


	63. Red Hot

**Red Hot**

_(A second response to the prompt "hair," because I liked both ideas equally. Ties in to the episode "Peace on Us.")_

Hawkeye steps into the Swamp and B.J. turns to face him, his mouth curving into the kind of smile that reaches his eyes. He's just poured himself a glass of gin from the still, and he raises it a little in greeting.

"Sexy as hell," he says cryptically.

Hawkeye shuts the Swamp door behind him. "What is?"

"You were," B.J. says, those eyes still sparkling as he stares.

"Were?" Hawkeye tilts his head, turning playful. "As in, past tense?"

And B.J. laughs softly, which sends Hawkeye's stomach fluttering, as always. "Well you still are, of course. Goes without saying. But I was specifically referring to how sexy you looked earlier tonight, at the party. With that red hair," B.J. explains with a bit of a growl in his voice, and Hawkeye finally understands. His dyed-red hair was a turn-on, apparently. He wishes he'd known this before he showered the dye out five minutes ago.

"Oh, you liked that, huh?" he teases, getting himself a drink of gin from the still. "That's interesting. I thought you said mine was the worst dye job of the whole bunch…"

B.J. shrugs. "It grew on me." He reaches out and runs his fingers through Hawkeye's still-damp, but decidedly blackish-gray, hair. "But you know," he says as he twirls some strands around his fingers, "this color's nice too." His voice is almost dreamy. Hawkeye suspects there's more going on here than just an appreciation of hair color.

"You're acting, uh… awfully affectionate tonight, Dr. Hunnicutt."

B.J. smiles and it lights up his whole face. What else is new? "Couldn't keep my eyes off you all night," he confesses, moving in closer. "It wasn't just the red hair, either. I looked at you and saw this Knight in Shining Armor… we all did. This man who put his ass on the line, who went off and conned his way into the peace talks, risking everything for the good of the outfit. For our sanity. It was remarkable, Hawk. It was… one of the most ridiculous, incredible things I've ever seen." He laughs and adds, "You're insane, but you know what? I couldn't love you more."

Hawkeye puts his glass down untouched. He's been too enthralled by B.J.'s manner and words to take a drink. He'd had no idea, during the party, exactly how his little adventure in Panmunjom had affected his lover.

Who knew being a nut could be such an aphrodisiac?

He takes B.J.'s glass out of his hand and puts it down on the table next to his own. He takes one step closer, and now they are nearly right up against one another. If Charles were to come in right now, there would be no explaining this away… they're standing much closer than mere friends ever would.

He plants the softest kiss on B.J.'s moist lips. "Let's, uh… take this conversation to the supply room, shall we? You can thank me for my insanity and/or bravery there, in any way you see fit."

"Oh yeah," B.J. agrees, "that's a terrific idea," He leans forward, perhaps looking for another kiss. Hawkeye obliges, quickly.

They turn to leave the tent, but then Hawkeye bends over and picks up the shirt lying on the floor next to B.J.'s cot. "Speaking of turn-ons," he says, "this red shirt you were wearing all night? Well, let's just say it looked a whole hell of a lot better on you than olive drab ever did."

B.J. promptly pulls off his green T-shirt and takes the dyed-red sweatshirt from Hawkeye, shrugging into it. "All your fantasies tonight, Hawkeye Pierce," he promises. "Anything for my Knight in Shining Armor."

They leave the Swamp and Hawkeye glances over his shoulder, catches the gleam in his lover's eye. _Peace talks, hell, _he thinks as he leads B.J. across the compound_. I've changed my mind… don't let this war ever end. _


	64. First Time

**First Time**

_(A response to the prompt "thinking.")_

B.J. ran his tongue lightly up the length of Hawkeye's neck and smiled at the sound of his moans. Sweet… sexy… filled with passion and longing.

"We shouldn't…" Hawkeye muttered, though he didn't sound very convincing.

B.J. shook his head, teeth nibbling. "You don't really believe that."

"But…" Hawkeye stopped, gasping suddenly as B.J. slid an exploring hand under the waistband of his pants. Eventually he continued, "What if… in the morning, you decide this was a mistake?"

B.J.'s fingers flittered over the front of Hawkeye's boxers. That elicited another moan. He put his mouth at Hawk's ear and said, very deliberately, "It's no mistake. I don't think so now, and I'm not going to think so in the morning."

The adventurous hand now snuck beneath the boxers, finding skin. Hawkeye's hips bucked. "Uhnnn," he said nonsensically, then cleared his throat. "I'm starting to come around to your way of thinking."

B.J. laughed softly, burying his face in thick black hair as his hand stroked… stroked. "I knew you would." He kissed Hawkeye's ear, then his temple, then his cheek, taking his time, savoring the tastes. "We can't go back now, Hawk. Too late for that."

He felt Hawkeye's nod, heard his raspy, quick breathing.

"It's not like I haven't thought this through." Kissing his jaw now… then back to his neck, teeth scraping gently. "Thought about it for too long, actually. Time to stop… I'm done thinking."

"OK." Hawkeye's arms wrapped around B.J.'s waist, pulling him up and on top, full contact. It was his turn to whisper into B.J.'s ear, and he said, "Got it. No more thinking, no more questioning. This is what you want, and it's what I want."

"Yes."

"I love you."

Although every moment, every touch, every breath of this evening had been about love… hearing those words spoken somehow brought B.J.'s world to a halt. He stared into Hawk's eyes, seeing the stark emotion there, and realization washed over him. Nothing would ever again be the same in his life.

He swallowed, feeling the weight of his reply. "I love you."

That much was true, but he'd been wrong when he said there'd be no more thinking. For the rest of the war, all he did was think… wondering how on earth he was going to be able to choose.


	65. Hidden Away

**Hidden Away**

_(A response to the prompt "hiding." Post-war story.)_

B.J. shut the front door behind him and stepped into an eerily quiet house. Both Hawkeye and Erin were supposed to be home, but there was no sign of either one. He guessed it was possible they'd gone out to the store or something, so he figured he'd just wait a while and not start supper until he knew what was going on.

He went to the hall closet to hang up his coat, and when he opened the door, there sat Hawkeye, on the floor of the closet, legs tucked up against his chest in the tiny space. B.J. took an involuntary jump backward.

"Jesus, Hawk! What the hell are you doing in the closet?"

Hawkeye put a finger to his lips, signaling silence. He whispered, "We're playing hide-and-seek. Keep your voice down!"

B.J., still thrown off kilter, looked up and down the hall and said, "Huh? Who?"

Giving him a thoroughly exasperated look, Hawkeye said, "Erin and I! Who do you think? She's going to hear you if you don't shut up. Now get the hell in here!" And he grabbed B.J. by the arm and pulled him into the closet, down onto the floor. He quietly clicked the door shut again. There'd barely been enough room in here for one 6-foot-something man, and now there were two of them, practically on top of one another. B.J. shifted, trying to get more comfortable, if that was even possible in the cramped quarters.

"I don't get it…" he began.

"Hide-and-seek, Beej," Hawkeye said impatiently. "It's a game. One person hides, the other person seeks. Pretty basic."

B.J., whose only crime had been to come home from work, said, "Geez, Hawk, give me a break, will ya? I get home and go to hang up my coat, and the next thing I know, I'm being pulled into a closet to take part in a game I'm not even playing."

"Shhhh!" Hawkeye said suddenly, tilting his head as he listened intently to approaching footsteps. Little-girl footsteps. He whispered, "She's getting close."

B.J. rolled his eyes. These two took their games entirely too seriously. Each one had a competitive streak that put even him to shame. But he did indeed clam up, not wanting to incur Hawkeye's wrath any further.

The footsteps went past the closet door… but then came back. B.J. could just picture his daughter looking this way and that, trying to figure out Hawkeye's hiding strategy. The footsteps went into the bathroom down the hall… and then came back.

Hawkeye had B.J. by the waist, they were both barely breathing, and B.J. had to admit there was something very sexy about this whole scenario. In a dark closet with his lover… bodies pressed together… sharing a secret…

He couldn't help it, he leaned in and began nuzzling Hawkeye's neck, having gone from bewilderment to mild annoyance to complete and utter arousal in lightning speed.

Hawkeye made a half-hearted attempt to push him away. B.J. wasn't having it. He put his hand behind Hawk's head and pulled him in for a deep, delicious kiss… tongues finding one another… the tiniest of moans escaping B.J.'s throat.

That was enough to make Hawkeye abruptly break the kiss and pull back. "Shhh!" he admonished.

But the closet door was yanked open in that instant, and Erin stood there, pointing, "I found you! I found you! You're it!" Her expression shifted from delight to confusion as she noticed B.J. "Daddy? What…?" Then, as the wise-beyond-her-years little girl they knew and loved, she came to her own (mostly accurate) conclusion. "Geez! You two can't even keep your hands off each other long enough to play a game of hide-and-seek!" She shook her head in disapproval.

Before either of them could say anything in their defense, she stalked off down the hall, calling over her shoulder, "So is somebody going to start supper or not?"

Hawkeye and B.J., still tangled together on the floor of the closet, just looked at each other, properly chastised. Finally B.J. crawled backward into the hallway and stood up, pulling Hawkeye by the hand to help him out, and said, "Uh, I guess we better go get supper started."

"Yeah," Hawkeye said, dusting off his backside, "I guess so."

Erin 1. Daddies 0.


	66. Introductions

**Introductions**

_(A response to the prompt "nervous." Post-war story; references "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen.")_

B.J. leans over and picks up Erin, propping her against his hip. It looks so effortless… as it should, Hawkeye supposes. He's her father. Holding her is certainly second-nature to him by now.

Hawkeye's mouth goes a little dry and his heartbeat picks up. It's silly, being nervous or frightened or whatever he is. Erin's staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. She's got a small block clutched in one hand; it has the letter D on it. It's what she was playing with when he came into the room and interrupted toy time. B.J. has been saying what a chatty girl she is, but at the moment, she's completely mute, looking unsure. After a beat, she turns away from Hawkeye, almost burrowing into B.J.'s shoulder.

"It figures that she's going to be shy today," B.J. says as he bounces her a little in his arms. "Erin?" he coos to his little girl. "This is Hawkeye. You've heard me talk about him."

Hawkeye finally finds his voice. "Hello Erin, it's nice to meet you." He reaches out, taps her arm in greeting. She still doesn't look at him and seems to shrink even further into her daddy.

Hawkeye feels a trickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck. He thinks of a crying baby on a bus… it wasn't all that long ago, and the images of that horrific night still haunt him at times… too often, actually, but he never admits that to B.J. or to anyone. He knows he can't keep on blaming himself. He had the therapy sessions with Sidney, he worked his way through the repression and the guilt and the deep, deep sorrow. But the incident's always going to be with him… of course it will. And at times like this, when he's meeting his lover's daughter for the first time… panic takes up residence inside his gut and threatens to take control of him.

He draws a deep breath, then another. His eyes shift to B.J., who says apologetically, "She's uncharacteristically shy right now, but don't worry. She'll come around."

Hawkeye nods, feeling lost about what to do next. "I hope so," he replies, just for something to say. His voice sounds a little shaky.

B.J. perhaps picks up on it, because his expression changes. Suddenly he's no longer wearing that sanguine look that fairly screams "how neat is this, introducing my two favorite people to each other?" He seems to have realized that Hawkeye's a bit off-kilter, and he turns more serious, concerned. "Hawk?"

Hawkeye focuses on his eyes and finds comfort in the tranquil blue. "I'm just… It's OK, Beej." He loves B.J. more than life itself, but there's a slight disconnect when it comes to this. Can the man even begin to understand what Hawkeye's going through, and _has _gone through since that night on the bus? There aren't sufficient words to convey the thoughts and emotions and inner demons that he's dealt with. Hawkeye wouldn't want to burden him anyway. "I'm fine," he finally manages to say.

"Good." B.J.'s voice is soft, because now Erin has started to nod off in his arms. "Don't worry, Hawk. You two are going to get along great, I just know it. This is going to work. But I'll need your help. She's going to be _both _of ours, when she's not at her mother's house. I'll need you to be her daddy, too."

Hawkeye swallows. "I don't know if I can," he says in all honesty.

"You can," B.J. says firmly, then smiles. "I'll be right here by your side."


	67. The Sincerest Form of Flattery

**The Sincerest Form of Flattery**

_(A response to the prompt "sharp." Post-war story.)_

"Erin Anne Hunnicutt!"

Erin's response to B.J.'s bellow was a calm blink-blink of the eyes, followed by a look of utter innocence.

Hawkeye started to say, "Beej…"

But B.J. wasn't listening. He was fixated on their daughter, and he pointed at her right hand. "Put that down! Now!"

The little urchin gently dropped the steak knife as she was told, but her expression continued to convey that she had no earthly idea why she was being yelled at.

B.J. said, "What the hell…?"

At the same time, Hawkeye was saying, "Beej, calm down…"

And now Erin finally started to look upset. "Daddy," she said as she looked down at her stuffed animal, "I was only trying to help him."

"Help him?" B.J. echoed.

He and Hawkeye took a step closer, getting a better look. Her favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Bunny, was lying face-up in front of her on the table, and she had sliced into him with the steak knife (a very sharp, very dangerous steak knife, Hawkeye reminded himself… surely the reason his partner was on the verge of flipping out on their kid). Some of Mr. Bunny's stuffing had been pulled out.

B.J. continued, "Help him how?"

Erin pointed at the critter as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He needed an appendectomy and I was giving him one!" she said in her defiant tone. Her "Miss Know-It-All" tone. The one that suggested her fathers were really quite dense, when you came right down to it.

Hawkeye glanced at B.J., noting the redness of his face, the anger that was threatening to surface. He put a hand on B.J.'s arm in an attempt to center him. "Beej…"

"Not now, Hawk. Erin, that knife is very, very sharp and you could have hurt yourself—"

"But I didn't! I was careful!" Her mouth was starting to work a little, the defiant attitude turning to a defensive one. "I couldn't find one of your scalpels… that's what I _really _wanted to use—"

"_What?_"

"Beej, will you calm down already?" Hawkeye tightened his grip. "Erin is fine. She put down the knife like you asked, and everything's OK. Well, Mr. Bunny's not looking in very good shape, but our kid is OK. And that's the important thing. Right?" He waited until B.J. finally looked at him, and his eyebrows shot up.

He felt the tension drain from B.J.'s body as the words sank in. Hawkeye looked at Erin, who was wisely being quiet now, and then back at B.J., who nodded. "You're right, Hawk," he said. Hawkeye released his hold and B.J. went to Erin then, pulling her gently into his arms. "I'm sorry, Erin, but that was a very naughty thing you did. Knives—and scalpels—are very sharp, and you are _not _to use them, ever. Not until you get much older, OK?"

"OK." Erin nodded, her eyes brimming with tears now, because the seriousness of the situation was finally dawning on her. She'd gotten herself in some big trouble here. "It's just… he needed his appendix out…" she tried again, but then the words suddenly stopped and the crying began.

B.J. held her close and looked over at Hawkeye. They both knew what was going on. Two weeks before, one of the teachers at Erin's school had had to undergo an emergency appendectomy… and Hawkeye just happened to be the surgeon who operated on him. That made Hawkeye a sort of folk hero at school, and in turn that made Erin a mini-celebrity. It seemed every day she had a new story about how some kid wanted to know more about her surgeon fathers.

Hawkeye went to the two of them and rubbed a hand over Erin's back, trying to soothe. "I think Mr. Bunny's going to be fine, Erin," he said. "Why don't you go to your room and play with your dolls, and Daddy and I will sew him back up. His recovery will be very quick, you'll see. He's a bunny, and they heal a lot faster than people do."

She looked up at him, her eyes still wet. "They do?"

"You bet. He's going to be looking much better by suppertime. Now go on… off to your room. Leave this to the professionals, OK?"

She wiped an arm across her face and nodded, slinking off to her room, looking very much like a little girl who'd been caught in the act of doing something bad.

B.J. let out a sound that was half-sigh and half-scream. Hawkeye couldn't help laughing. "Beej, she didn't hurt herself…"

"But she could have!"

"But she didn't. And she was imitating her dads. I mean, c'mon, that's got to get you right here," he tapped a finger over B.J.'s heart.

For the first time, B.J. smiled. "Yeah, I gotta admit… it does."

Hawkeye leaned in for a quick, reassuring, "this crisis is over" kiss, then he went to the table and looked down at their patient. Mr. Bunny had a very neat incision—

"Hey Beej?"

"Hmm?"

Hawkeye pointed. "Look at this."

"I know, we have to close our patient…"

"No, I mean _look_." B.J. came to his side and he pointed again. "The incision. Assuming Mr. Bunny were a person… it's exactly where it should be for an appendectomy." He looked at B.J., a little amazed. "She knew where to cut."

B.J. took a moment to process this. "Oh Lord," he said as he started to rummage around for a needle and thread. "That's all we need: another surgeon in this family!"

Chuckling, they got down to the business of sewing up their daughter's favorite stuffed animal.


	68. In Case of Emergency

**In Case of Emergency**

_(A response to the prompt "mother." Post-war story.)_

"I'm so sorry, B.J.," were the first words out of Peg's mouth as B.J. and Hawkeye approached at a jog. Her expression was one of utter remorse. "I can't believe… I'm just so sorry. I should've watched her more closely."

"How is she?" B.J. asked, automatically putting a hand on his ex-wife's arm, giving it a comforting stroke.

Peg nodded in the direction of the closed door to their right. "They've pumped her stomach. They said she's going to be fine…"

"Well then stop beating yourself up, Peg. She's in good hands here, and if they say she's going to be fine, she will be."

Peg nodded, swallowed visibly. She probably didn't even realize she was wringing her hands. "We'll be able to go in soon, they said."

B.J. put on a soothing smile, still rubbing her arm. "Relax, Peg. You did the right thing. You got her here right away."

"Oh God, B.J.," she said with a nervous glance at the closed door, behind which their daughter was being tended to. "What if…?"

Hawkeye finally spoke up, "Don't play the 'what if?' game, Peg. Beej is right, you did exactly what you should have done. I'm sure Erin will be fine." He felt for the poor woman. You could watch a little kid like a hawk, so to speak, for 59 minutes out of every hour, but that one minute you turn your back, well, there's no telling what mischief she could get into. It could just as easily have happened on their watch. The only difference was they were a couple of doctors trained to handle any crisis. But Peg had acted quickly, and had gotten Erin to the hospital right away.

He watched as B.J. pulled her into a brief hug. Despite all the consolation, she was beside herself with concern. "I'm a terrible mother," she said suddenly. It was very uncharacteristic; she was usually so surefooted as a parent, so confident.

B.J.'s voice was stern. "Stop it. You are definitely _not _a terrible mother!" He steered her to a nearby chair and sat her down, which meant he towered over her even more than usual. "Kids get into shit, and even the most amazing parents in the world won't stop that from happening."

She nodded again as his words sank in. "OK, OK," she mumbled.

"Our little girl's going to recover from this mishap, and she's going to get through her childhood unscathed. And do you know why I can be so certain of that? Because despite her 'curiosity killed the cat' tendencies, she's got two loving daddies who are doctors, and a loving mom who's very smart and thinks clearly in an emergency."

This brought a faint smile from Peg as she looked up at him. "Thanks, B.J."

The door finally opened and they all turned to see a middle-aged, slightly overweight doctor with bags under his eyes emerge. "Erin's parents?" he asked.

All three of them nodded in the affirmative, and the doctor didn't bother to ask the logical follow-up question. Instead he gestured to the room. "She's feeling much better. You can see her now."

They filed into the room, where Erin was lying in bed, drinking water for the nurse.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, young lady!" Peg admonished her before anyone else could say anything.

The nurse smiled at them. "She's been asking and asking for her mommy. See, Erin? I told you your mommy was here."

Peg rushed to her daughter, pulling the sniffling youngster into her arms and mumbling comforting words. Hawkeye took hold of B.J.'s hand and pulled him into the background. B.J. glanced over at him, and Hawkeye explained, "We'll get our turn, Beej. But right now, it's a mother-daughter moment."

B.J. nodded, looking from Hawkeye to the girls and back to Hawkeye. "Yeah," he said, squeezing Hawkeye's hand. "It is."


	69. What Little Girls Are Made Of

**What Little Girls Are Made Of**

_(A response to the prompt "laughter." Post-war story.)  
_  
The peal of high-pitched laughter made its way down the hallway and through the closed door. Hawkeye groaned, burrowing his face in the crook of B.J.'s arm. "Tell me again," he mumbled. "Why did we agree to this?"

"Because our daughter asked so nicely, with a 'pretty please' and a cherry on top," B.J. reminded him. There was more giggling from down the hall, and the guys exchanged looks. "Little did we know that a sleepover meant there would be no semblance of sleeping. How could you not know that, Hawk?"

"Me?" Hawkeye said defensively. "What the hell do I know? I was never a 9-year-old girl."

Contrary to their belief that the little rascals in Erin's bedroom could not possibly get any louder, there was a sudden outburst of shrill squealing followed by more laughter. To B.J., they sounded rather like hyenas in heat. Or how he imagined hyenas in heat sounded… he couldn't say he was an expert in that area.

He glanced over at the alarm clock and then shut his eyes, wondering how on earth he was supposed to work a full day tomorrow on so little sleep. His brain was so fixated on their problem—this sleepover that was such a blatant misnomer—that he jumped a little when Hawkeye seductively ran a foot up his leg and snuggled closer, nibbling an ear. "Jeez, Hawkeye. Are you coming on to me?"

"Well hell, Beej, I sure can't sleep with all that noise," Hawk complained. "Might as well do _something_. Don't you think?"

B.J. shifted to look him in the eye. "We _cannot _have sex while five of Erin's friends are staying over a few feet down the hall. Holy hell, come to your senses, will ya? You can go one night without."

"I can?" He sounded doubtful.

"You're going to have to."

Hawkeye let out a long-suffering moan. Meanwhile, the party down the hall suddenly reached a crescendo with every little girl apparently talking at once, and at high volume. B.J. threw back the covers and announced, "I'll go talk to them again. Tell them it's _past _time for them to get to sleep. I'll stand there with my arms crossed and a stern look on my face. Think that'll do the trick?"

Hawkeye rolled out of bed after him. "I'll come with you. We'll make a formidable team."

As B.J. and Hawkeye stood in Erin's doorway attempting to lay down the law, the six girls looked at them with doe eyes, all innocence. The men received polite nods of agreement that yes, they would quiet down and turn off the light and go to sleep. They received more "Yes sirs" than they'd heard during the entire Korean War. They shut the door behind them and went back to their room, certain the youngsters had gotten the message loud and clear.

Thirty seconds later, the laughter and shrieks started up again, and all B.J. could do was fall back into bed in utter defeat. "They are pure evil," he grumbled into the pillow.

"We're never going to sleep again," whined Hawkeye.

"I think you might be right."

"Are you _sure _we can't have sex?"

"We can't have sex."

Hawkeye smacked B.J.'s rump then, saying, "Well then how about a game of chess, huh? Because I sure as hell can't sleep with all that racket. C'mon, Beej, I gotta do something."

"OK," B.J. gave in, sitting up, "why not. Go ahead and get the chessboard."

As Hawkeye headed to the living room to gather their heavily used chessboard and pieces, B.J. stared at his own face in the mirror above the bureau. He sighed. Who was that exhausted, pallid man looking back at him? He blinked a few times and then watched as a smile spread slowly across his face.

Ah, who was he kidding? He wouldn't trade this life for anything in the world.


	70. Giving In

**Giving In**

_(A response to the prompt "want.")_

It's at the end of their first night of R&R in Tokyo when the resistance finally crumbles.

It's the culmination of all the quips, jokes, double-entendres, stares and touches. It's the inevitable conclusion… where they've seemingly been headed all along.

They're in each other's arms and their hands are everywhere. There's kissing and moaning and whispered encouragement. Hawkeye shuts his eyes tight and tries to memorize the taste of every kiss, the feeling of warm skin under his fingers, the strength of the body pressing against his own. B.J. mumbles something about "wants," and Hawkeye nods and thinks yes… wants and needs and more, more, more.

They fall in a tangle onto the bed and clothing starts to get pulled off, and Hawkeye never does make it back to his own room that night. The whole thing is a blur of passion and heat and love, and Hawkeye can feel the ridiculous grin that's plastered on his face but he doesn't care how sappy that is… he's happy and in love and finally in the arms of the one person he's wanted more than any other, ever.

When he wakes the next morning, something is wrong. The other side of the bed is empty and the sheets are cool and it's an eerie feeling, almost as if he spent the night alone. He rolls over and opens one eye, looks around the room, but there's no B.J. No sign of him and no sounds coming from the bathroom, just a lot of emptiness and the ticking of the clock.

Hawkeye sits up in bed, blinks a few times and runs a hand through his hair, tries to figure it out. Then he sees it—the note on the nightstand. A morning-after note.

Hawkeye,  
It was wonderful and I don't regret it. I'm glad we agreed that it won't happen again, but I'm also glad—very glad—that we gave ourselves up to it for one night. I'll remember it always. Love you.

And that's when Hawkeye understands… that's when he thinks back to the urgent, whispered words of the night before. B.J. hadn't said "wants." He had said "once."

_Only once._

And Hawkeye falls back onto the bed, his heart shattered by the realization. He shuts his eyes against the tears that threaten to fall. No hope, no dreams, no future… The love of his life had been in his arms, but then slipped right on through.

If he'd only known, he would've held on tighter.


	71. On the Streets of New York

**On the Streets of New York**

_(A response to the prompt "the past." Post-war story, but ties in to the episode "George.")_

B.J. held the door for three women who were entering Antonio's restaurant just as he and Hawkeye were leaving, so he was looking the other way when he heard a voice he didn't recognize say, "Dr. Pierce? Is that you?"

He turned around to look at Hawkeye's face, and he could tell that Hawk couldn't place the man he'd just encountered on the streets of New York City. Neither did B.J. Then again, the guy wasn't acting like he knew B.J.

The stranger in question was just about six feet tall, blond-haired and boyish-looking with a strong cleft chin. He was standing with another man, and nobody had to tell B.J. they were a couple. They didn't have their arms around one another, they weren't touching in any way, but B.J. could just tell.

He supposed there were people who could tell the same thing just by looking at him and Hawkeye.

"I'm Hawkeye Pierce, yes," Hawkeye admitted, sounding a little leery, as if he were worried that he was about to be served with a summons or something.

The young man's face broke out in a wide grin. "I knew it! You haven't changed much, I knew it was you. I can't believe this!" He held out a hand and Hawkeye shook it. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Hawkeye's response was a sheepish, "Sorry…"

"My name is George Weston, and I served in Korea. You fixed me up at your M*A*S*H. I was, uh… I was pretty roughed up at the time, lots of bruises on my face, maybe that would help you remember."

That did seem to trigger Hawkeye's memory, and B.J. watched his expression shift to recognition followed by something close to delight. "George!" he exclaimed and gave the guy's hand another shake. "Yeah, of course, now I remember. It's good to see you. Good to know you got out of there in one piece."

"You too, Captain… uh, Doctor," George said, and then abruptly remembered his manners. "Oh, I'm sorry," he added, pointing in the direction of his companion. "This is Jeff… Jeff Clarke."

Hawkeye put a hand on B.J.'s back, saying, "And this is B.J. Hunnicutt. He also served at the 4077th, but he came along some time after your little visit with us."

Handshakes all around, as men are wont to do, and B.J. watched with interest as a moment of mutual understanding seemed to pass between George and Hawkeye.

The four of them stood there on the sidewalk chatting for a few minutes, taking care to stay out of the way of the pedestrians bustling past them. George explained he was working in the City as a high-school janitor and going to NYU at night to earn a teaching degree, and Hawkeye seemed especially pleased to hear that. After a while they said their goodbyes, and Hawkeye and B.J. proceeded down the street, leaving George and Jeff to their own dining experience at Antonio's.

Half a block later, B.J. asked, "What was that all about, Hawk?"

"Former patient, Beej. From the war. Weren't you paying attention?"

"Yeah, I got that. But I mean, I sort of caught something else… some kind of acknowledgement between the two of you…" He didn't know exactly how to elaborate.

But as usual, he didn't need to. Hawkeye smiled at him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. "Nothing for you to worry about, Beej," he said, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "As it turns out, he and I have a lot more in common than we thought we did back then. That's all."


	72. Take Me Out to the Ball Game

**Take Me Out to the Ball Game**

_(A response to the prompt "luck." Post-war story.)_

"…And when the pitcher throws four balls, the batter gets to go to first base," Erin explained as she and Hawkeye found and took their seats. "It's called a walk."

"I knew that," Hawkeye said, then paused. "I think."

Erin shook her head, went _tsk tsk_. "Honestly, Hawkeye. Don't you pay any attention to the games when I have them on TV?"

"Well, sometimes," Hawkeye replied lamely. "Usually I'm too distracted by your dad's yummy mouth or strong arms or…" He caught himself and stopped abruptly. He knew he had a tendency to tell the kid more than he really should.

But Erin, unfazed, only rolled her eyes. Her fathers' undying passion for one another was not exactly a news bulletin to her. "Well he's not here now, so you have no excuse! You _have _to watch the game."

Hawkeye put his arm around her shoulders, across the back of her seat, and smiled at her. "Of course I'll watch! I'm excited about being here with you, Erin. Really. How often do we get to go someplace special together, just the two of us?"

She returned the smile, leaned back, apparently satisfied that he was having a good time despite the fact that this was a—shudder—sporting event. She was quite the tomboy in some ways, following sports far more intensely than her fathers did, but that was all right. She had myriad interests, and he and Beej did everything they could to encourage her passions. Today that meant a trip to a San Francisco Giants game, but unfortunately sans B.J. because he had to work.

Hawkeye found himself enjoying the game more than he would have guessed, especially since the Giants got out to an early lead and managed to hold onto it. In the bottom of the 7th inning, as he was finishing off the hot dog he'd bought and looking around for the napkin that had been on his lap only seconds ago, Erin squealed into his ear, "Catch it, Hawkeye! Catch it, catch it!"

He looked up just in time to see a baseball coming right at him. Although he hadn't seen the ball get hit, he understood in that split second that this was the fabled "foul ball" that he'd seen people all over the ballpark catch when one came their way. He didn't think, he just reacted. He put his hand up and watched in amazement as he plucked the ball out of the air… as if he were some kind of athlete or something. Nothing could be further from the truth. But he was in the right place at the right time… and he had a baseball in his hand to prove it.

Erin jumped up and clapped and squealed, hurling herself into his arms in sheer delight. "You caught it! You caught it! Oh my God, that's amazing, wait until we tell Dad, he's never going to believe it!"

Hawkeye, still stunned, could only laugh at her joyous reaction. For a moment he was frozen, not even hearing the fans around them who were applauding his nice catch. Then he snapped out of it and acknowledged everyone with an "aw shucks" gesture, to some mild laughter.

Erin, so thrilled she was practically dancing in place, announced to anyone who would listen, "That's my dad!"

Handing her the baseball, Hawkeye said with a bow, "Yours, my lady." She beamed at him, took it, stared at it, and then kissed him on the cheek. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look happier.

* * *

"Daddy! Daddy!" Erin yelled as they walked into the house a few hours later. "Guess what? Hawkeye caught a foul ball, can you believe it?"

B.J. emerged from the kitchen to greet them, his expression one of surprise and maybe even doubt. "He did?" He looked from his daughter, who was bouncing up and down on her heels, to Hawkeye. "You did?"

Hawkeye shrugged nonchalantly, buffed his nails on his lapel. "But of course! 'Tweren't nothing."

Erin held out the baseball for B.J. to inspect, but then she got antsy about wanting it back in her possession, so he handed it back to her. She ran off to use the telephone in the kitchen to call her friend Cindy and boast about having a game-used baseball.

B.J. pulled Hawkeye into an embrace, kissed his cheek. "Sounds like you two had a good time."

"We really did. She helped me understand the game—or more than I used to anyway." He tilted his head, saying, "Except for one thing that still baffles me. The pitcher isn't supposed to have balls…? That's disturbing."

B.J. laughed softly. "The pitcher doesn't want to _throw _balls, Hawk. That means his pitches are out of the strike zone."

"Oh," Hawkeye said, still a bit confused but unwilling to admit it. "OK."

B.J. grinned, shook his head, put a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. "A sports expert you'll never be, but don't sweat it. You caught a baseball for our daughter? You're aces in her book."

They could hear her talking excitedly on the phone in the next room. Hawkeye leaned in and kissed B.J. and then whispered sheepishly, "It was pure luck."

"Luck or skill," B.J. said with a shrug, "who cares? Either way, she's thrilled. She's going to be telling this story for weeks—maybe even months."

Hawkeye sighed. "Her fathers are a couple of successful, skilled surgeons who saved countless lives in Korea, and yet what she wants to brag about is a lucky catch at a ball game?"

B.J. laughed. "It's a crazy world, isn't it, Hawk?" On that truism, they looped their arms around each other and went to join their daughter in the kitchen.


	73. Trick or Treat

**Trick or Treat**

_(A response to the prompt "candy." Post-war story.)_

Erin was heavy in B.J.'s arms as he carried her home. She was fast asleep now… wiped out from all the excitement. Regardless, she still clutched the prized bag of candy in her little hand.

"Ah," Hawkeye said with an amused smirk as he strolled, hands in pockets, at B.J.'s side, "the life of a 5-year-old on Halloween night."

"She _almost _made it to the end," B.J. said, patting her back gently.

"It's all right, she's got plenty of candy. She made out just fine."

They approached their house and Hawkeye stepped ahead to unlock the door. B.J. carried their little girl inside, whispering even though it didn't seem likely that any amount of noise was going to interrupt Erin's slumber. "I'll take her candy into the kitchen and hide it away so she doesn't get into it without our consent. Will you take her up to her room and tuck her in?"

"You bet, Beej."

B.J. carefully handed over his precious cargo, at the same time extracting the bag of candy from her clutches. Unfortunately it was enough to wake her, at least a little bit. She opened her eyes a slit. "Don't eat my candy, Daddy."

"I'm going to put it away, darlin'. You can have some tomorrow."

"Don't let Hawkeye steal any."

"Hey!" Hawkeye protested. "Do I look like a candy thief?"

With a completely serious, if only semi-conscious, expression on her face, she nodded. Hawkeye and B.J. had to laugh.

"I promise I won't steal any," Hawkeye assured her, "and neither will your dad. You earned that candy, all dressed up so nice in your princess costume. Everyone thought you were beautiful!"

She rubbed at her eyes and then closed them, resting her head on Hawkeye's shoulder. B.J. exchanged a look with him, a nonverbal communication that meant, _Cute little thing is really zonked out, go ahead and take her up to bed.  
_  
As Hawkeye ascended the stairs with Erin, B.J. took the candy bag into the kitchen and hid it away in one of the higher cupboards. They would dole out the candy in reasonable servings over the next week or so. They didn't need a repeat of what had happened at Easter.

* * *

B.J. was setting the alarm clock for 7 a.m. when Hawkeye came into the room, shutting the door behind him. "It was tough getting her changed into her pajamas," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. "She was out like a light."

"Big night for her." B.J. grinned, remembering the girl's excitement, especially about her costume. "I think she had a good time, until she got so tired."

"Cutest little princess I've ever seen," Hawkeye said. He stopped what he was doing and stared at B.J., sprawled out on the bed, naked and waiting, and his mood changed suddenly and perceptibly, from proud parent to amorous lover. He slowly reached down and unzipped his fly, his eyes never leaving B.J.'s face. "So…" he drawled, a teasing smile coming to his lips, "tell me something."

B.J. watched as Hawkeye slid his pants down his hips, kicked them off. "Yeah?"

Hawkeye arched his eyebrows. "Trick… or treat?"

B.J. laughed, held out his hand. "Treat. Oh, by all means… treat." He pulled Hawkeye onto the bed with him and reached up to snap out the lamp.


	74. Old Wounds

**Old Wounds**

_(A response to the prompt "car." Post-war story, but ties in to the episode "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen.")_

The mechanic came out the door, wiping his hands on the filthy, oily rag tumbling out of the pocket of his overalls. He approached them and spoke to B.J., "I'm afraid we'll have to keep it for a couple of days, sir. We have to order a part, it's not something we keep in stock."

B.J. looked from the mechanic to Hawkeye to Erin. "Oh well," he said with a shrug. "No car for a few days, I guess. Thanks, uh…" he read the name etched on the man's overalls. "Gus."

"Sure thing." Gus smiled and gestured up the street. "Bus stop is right up there at the end of the block. Pretty handy, huh?"

B.J. thanked the mechanic, who went back inside the garage. For a moment, the three of them stood there in silence, still digesting the idea that their aging DeSoto was out of commission for a little while. Erin was the first to snap out of it, grabbing her dad's hand and pulling. "Come on, you guys! Bus ride!"

It didn't even hit B.J. until he looked at Hawkeye's face and saw the uncertainty there. Not quite panic, not quite fear, but a definite unease. And B.J.'s stomach did a somersault as he remembered.

Another time, another place, darkness and tension and terror._ Keep that damn baby quiet!  
_  
Despite his daughter's insistence that they get moving, B.J. held his ground and caught Hawk's eyes. "Hawk?" he said gently. "Are you… Will it be all right, taking the bus?"

Hawkeye tried to appear blasé, waving a hand dismissively. "I've been on a bus or two since…" He let the thought trail off, and that was telling in itself. Despite his assurance, he looked unnerved.

B.J. nodded. He slung an arm around Hawk's shoulders as the three of them began to head toward the bus stop at the intersection. "Erin and I will be right here with you, won't we, honey?"

Erin looked up at her dads, confusion clouding her face. It seemed she didn't even know what question to ask.

So B.J. explained, "Hawkeye doesn't really like riding on buses, honey. He had a bad experience once. But we'll help him, right?"

Erin nodded vigorously, earnestly. "Yeah, we can help you, Hawkeye." Her eyes sparked with sudden inspiration. "You can sit in between us and we can hold your hands."

B.J.'s heart broke a little bit at that suggestion, even as it brought a slight smile to Hawkeye's face… his first one since the car conked out on them about an hour ago. "That's really sweet, Erin," Hawkeye said. "That'll help, thank you."

They only had to wait about ten minutes for the bus to arrive, pulling up to the curb where they stood, the door opening with a _whoosh _and a creak of hinges. B.J. boarded right behind Hawkeye, a gentle touch at his back to offer support and reassurance. They sat near the front, and as promised B.J. and Erin put Hawkeye in the middle. Once they were all settled, B.J. took hold of Hawkeye's right hand and Erin grabbed his left. B.J. noted that Hawkeye's palm was sweaty, but he seemed to be doing OK, if a little lost in thought. B.J. squeezed his hand and got a smile in return.

The bus started to lurch forward and B.J. settled back in his seat, trying to encourage Hawkeye to relax as well. From the window seat came Erin's sing-song voice: "I spy… with my little eye… something that begins with the letter D."

B.J. smiled, even teared up a bit. That was his little girl.

Hawkeye looked out the window and took only a couple of seconds before he spotted the object of the I Spy game. "A dog," he said, nodding in the direction of the beagle on the sidewalk, taking a leak against a tree. The beagle's owner was tapping her foot as she waited.

"Right!" Erin said. "Now it's your turn."

"I spy… with my little eye… something that begins with the letter B."

Erin made a lot of guesses but never did come up with "bakery," and B.J. noticed that the tense grip of Hawkeye's hand eased as the ride—and the game—went on. By the time they arrived at their stop, a few blocks from their house, Hawkeye was so immersed in conversation with Erin that he seemed to no longer be aware of the fact that he was on a bus. The three of them stood, nodded to the driver, and disembarked… and that was that.

Erin continued to hold Hawkeye's hand, though, as they started to walk to their house. The I Spy game had reminded him of playing it as a kid with his cousin Billy while they fished. That prompted him to tell Erin about a particularly gigantic fish the two of them had caught one day, and he was being animated and funny… though he may have been embellishing, which wouldn't surprise B.J. one bit.

Once they were inside the house, the front door barely closed behind them, Erin scampered off to find her beloved Waggle, and Hawkeye pulled B.J. into a tender, warm hug. "Thanks, Beej."

B.J. smiled against Hawkeye's shoulder. "I think Erin probably deserves more credit than I do for this one." He rubbed Hawk's back. "But I'm glad we could both be there to help."

After a moment, Hawkeye said softly, "I'm never going to forget it happened." The bus, he meant. The horror on the bus, on that dark night in Korea.

"I know."

Hawkeye pulled back, studied B.J.'s face. "But you and Erin… you both help me every day of my life, whether you know it or not."

The lump in B.J.'s throat prevented him from saying anything in response. But he could kiss his boyfriend.

Oh yes. He could do that.


	75. Rosie's Bar

**Rosie's Bar**

_(A response to the prompt "talk.")_

B.J. glances up from his drink just in time to see Hawkeye drop into the seat across from him. His heart skips a beat at the unexpected arrival, and he almost chuckles at his own schoolgirl-crush reaction. Hawkeye gestures over to Rosie for a beer and she's there in an instant, happy to cater to one of her favorite and most loyal customers. Hawkeye winks at her and then takes a gulp of his beer, complete with the requisite "Ahhh" afterward.

B.J. has always liked Rosie's Bar, ever since that first day when he came in here with Hawkeye and Radar and proceeded to get falling-down drunk… drunk enough to call Frank Burns "ferret face" upon first meeting. He knew the inside of this bar before he'd ever stepped foot in the 4077th, and for that reason and many others, he's got a real soft spot for this joint.

Almost as if he's reading B.J.'s thoughts (and what else would be new?), Hawkeye quips, "So what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

B.J. shrugs. "Waiting for that special someone, I suppose," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, playing along with the patented Hawkeye Pierce banter.

But what he's thinking about is the way Hawkeye's skin glistened last night when they were entangled together in the supply room. What he's remembering is Hawkeye's whispered promises and sweet moans of passion as they made love. The way his shoulder tasted as B.J. licked and nibbled.

There's a sparkle in Hawk's eyes now as he replies, "Well you know what they say. There's a special someone out there for everyone."

B.J. sips his drink but maintains the intense eye contact. "Do you believe that?"

"I do," and the expression on Hawkeye's face is so sweet and unguarded that B.J.'s heart once again comes dangerously close to arrhythmia. "Don't you?"

And it's weird, how this conversation has unfolded… going from a silly pick-up line to playful repartee to what now seems to be an at least partially serious discussion about their relationship. The relationship nobody knows about or _can _know about… the one they themselves hardly ever talk about—not even when they're alone together in the supply room or in a hotel room in Seoul, naked and sated and clinging to each other.

B.J. hasn't replied, he's too thrown off guard, so Hawkeye adds, perhaps as a way of deflecting any response that could be interpreted as a rejection, "Oh sure you do. Your special someone is sitting home in Mill Valley, California, right now."

And B.J. has no idea where the words come from, except probably directly from the heart, as he opens his mouth and says, "There's somebody very important to me in Mill Valley, yes… but maybe at the time I met her, and married her, I didn't have any idea there was someone even more special out there in the world, waiting to be found. Someone I would meet halfway across the globe, in a little war-torn village in Korea… someone who's sitting across from me now, pretending what we have isn't real, because he's afraid of getting hurt."

"Beej, you don't have to—"

"I know we don't talk about it, but we should," B.J. says, on a roll. "We should, Hawk." He reaches out and puts his right hand on top of Hawkeye's left one, and his voice turns soft, "I love you, and what's ahead of us isn't going to be easy, but as long as we trust each other and talk to each other and stick together, we'll figure it out."

Hawkeye appears flustered, a look that's utterly foreign on him, and his eyes dart away from B.J. as though he's embarrassed. "I only came in here to get a beer."

B.J. sits back in his chair, nods. "OK," he says, aware he's just taken their lighthearted chitchat and turned it into a heavy discussion that Hawkeye's clearly not interested in pursuing right now. This is neither the time nor the place for it, and B.J. backs off. "Understood."

There's an awkward pause and to fill the long moment of silence, they sip their drinks. Then Hawkeye catches B.J.'s eyes as they both look up at the same time, and his smile is coy and cute. "But yeah," he says softly, "we'll talk about it."

And as B.J. smiles back, he realizes that Rosie's is the setting for another first in his life: the first acknowledgement that this thing with Hawkeye actually means something.

It may be a filthy little shack out in the middle of nowhere with a snippy owner who serves god-awful booze for far too much money, but Lord, he loves this place.


	76. Number One Fan

**Number One Fan**

_(A response to the prompt "breakfast." Post-war story.)_

It was at breakfast one morning when B.J. realized, with something of a jolt, that Erin's idol was no longer that insufferably perky Mouseketeer Annette Funicello. No… all of a sudden it was clear that honor now went to Hawkeye Pierce.

The two of them were going to be spending the day together, since Hawkeye had the day off from the hospital while B.J. was scheduled to perform back-to-back-to-back surgeries. Hawkeye was at the kitchen table, writing on a piece of paper, when Erin emerged from her bedroom and, yawning, climbed onto the seat next to him.

B.J., making pancakes at the stove, asked over his shoulder, "Do you want pancakes too, Erin? Or cereal?"

"Pancakes," she said. She leaned into Hawkeye, trying to see what he was up to.

Hawkeye looked up at her and answered the unasked question. "We're going to have a fun day today, Erin. I'm planning it all out." He pointed at his "things to do today" list. "We don't want to waste a single second trying to figure out what to do next, do we? Gotta have a plan."

"Gotta have a plan," she echoed, and that was when B.J. saw it. Her obvious, acute adoration of the man at her side. Not that she hadn't adored him before, of course. But now it looked like pure, unconditional hero worship, with stars in the eyes and everything.

"And a plan I have," Hawkeye said, reading off his list. "First we go to the park, where you can play on the jungle gym and swings and slide to your heart's content. From there, we'll go to Olive's Diner for an early lunch, so we can beat the crowd. I know you like the milkshakes they make, so you can have one for dessert, but only if you eat everything on your plate first."

Erin was nodding, hanging on his every word. "OK," she readily agreed.

"Our afternoon starts with a movie matinee, your choice of anything that's showing downtown… we'll take a look at the newspaper before we leave the house. After the movie, we can stop by the library and return your books plus pick up some new ones. And then—"

"Whoa," B.J. said from his position at the stove, "that's a little regimented, isn't it, Hawk?"

Hawkeye waved a dismissive hand. "It's not written in stone or anything…"

"Not written in stone," Erin repeated, just in case B.J. hadn't heard.

"This list is just a guideline," Hawkeye pointed out. "We might not feel like stopping at the library after we get out of the movie. And then, Erin… you know what?"

"What?" she asked, fully awake and engaged now, entirely focused on her best buddy Hawkeye.

"We won't go then!" Hawkeye concluded with a flourish. "We're perfectly capable of flying by the seat of our pants if that's what we want to do."

She giggled. "Seat of our pants!" she exclaimed, finding humor in the expression.

B.J. smirked and flipped his pancakes over. "OK, OK… sounds like you two will have one heck of an exciting day. I'm jealous."

"Yeah, too bad you can't join us, Beej," Hawkeye sympathized. "But we'll bring you home something from the sweet shop, which is our last stop of the day…" He pointed again at his list. "Right here, after we spend a few minutes visiting Great-Grandpa Hunnicutt at the nursing home."

"Tell him I said hi," B.J. said, sneaking a peek at the underside of his pancakes. They looked fluffy and done, so he carefully placed them one by one onto a serving plate. "And that I'll see him this weekend."

Crazily, Hawkeye actually wrote that down on his list. "Will do, Beej."

B.J. carried the pancakes to the table and sat down opposite his daughter and partner. Hawkeye helped himself to the top two pancakes of the stack and then poured a ton of maple syrup on them, as he always did. Erin watched him intently, and then promptly did the same.

Then it was a case of monkey-see, monkey-do as Hawkeye sniffed each bite of pancake before eating it, and Erin reverently mirrored him. B.J. rolled his eyes and somehow managed to suppress a laugh.

But actually, he reflected as he dug into his own breakfast, it should've come as no surprise that his little girl had decided Hawkeye was her hero. After all, like father like daughter.


	77. All the Right Notes

**All the Right Notes**

_(A response to the prompt "music." Post-war story.)_

We walk out of the movie theater at just after 10 o'clock and Hawkeye says, "I don't feel like going home yet."

I shrug. "OK with me. Where do you want to go? Someplace for a cup of coffee?"

He smiles. "Nah. Let's go to Smokey Joe's." His eyebrows shoot up in question. "What do ya say?"

It's an idea that never would've occurred to me, but now that he suggests it… "Sounds great, Hawk."

Smokey Joe's is a jazz club we go to from time to time, and it's only a few blocks to the south, so we start heading in that direction… strolling past restaurants and coffee shops and retail stores that are all locked up for the night. By the time we're about halfway to the club, we've got the city street to ourselves, and Hawk slips his hand into mine.

It may be spring, but the air is brisk on this night, with a wind sweeping in from the ocean. It's refreshing, and if spending the last couple hours in a movie theater had rendered me a little drowsy, then the chilly night air is waking me back up with a vengeance.

When we get to Smokey Joe's, we find a sparse crowd, and we get seated at a table near the front. The band's playing something slow and bluesy, and it's exactly the kind of music I was in the mood for. We've never seen these guys before—there are four of them, drummer, bassist, guitarist, and pianist—all of them looking impossibly young, maybe not even out of their teens, but they're good. The music is loud, and aside from ordering our drinks from the waitress, Hawkeye and I say nothing. He watches the musicians as they play, and I watch him watching them. I love how he looks in his quiet moments, because they're so few and far between.

Funny how life works out. Here we are, living and working together in San Francisco, helping to raise Erin, enjoying each other and enjoying life. Who would've thought this is how we'd end up?

I smile to myself. Hawkeye won't remember it, but tomorrow will mark five years since the day we met. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, which I know is a cliché, but that doesn't make it any less true.

It hasn't always been easy, this life of ours, but it's well worth the shit we've occasionally had to deal with. He makes me happy, and I'm pretty sure he'd say the same about me. When I look at him at times like this, when he's unguarded and lost in his thoughts, I see a man who has found himself… a man who's finally gotten the serenity he deserves, the contentment we all dream of.

I'm content, too.

When the musicians take a break, I reach out and put a hand over Hawkeye's, wait for him to focus on me. "Thank you," I say.

"For what?"

"For this," I gesture around the room. "The idea to come here. It was exactly how I wanted to end the night, and I didn't even know it. You knew it, though."

"I always do."

We sip our drinks and listen to another set of music by the outrageously young band, and by the time it occurs to me to look at my watch, it's 12:20 in the morning. "We should go, Hawk," I say. "Getting late."

He nods, tosses some bills onto the table to cover our tab and more, and we get up to leave. But he hesitates, and I stop too, a question mark in my expression.

His smile is sweet and almost boyish. "Happy anniversary, Beej," he says, with a nod toward the clock on the wall over the bar.

Silly, that such a thing should make my heart do a twirl. But it does. "Happy anniversary, Hawk."

We start to thread our way out of the club, and he puts a hand at the small of my back as we go. He leans in and whispers at my ear: "Once we get home, I have another idea for how we can end the night."

"I'll bet you do," I murmur back.

He's full of ideas tonight, but I'm certainly not going to argue. He's hitting all the right notes.


	78. Into Temptation

**Into Temptation**

_(A response to the prompt "frustration.")_

B.J. shifts on his cot, sleepless and restless. From a few feet away, Hawkeye says in the darkness, "Beej? You can't sleep and I can't sleep. Let's go for a walk… whaddaya say?"

So B.J. follows as Hawkeye leads him across camp, both of them silent in the still night air. As they reach the supply room, Hawkeye grabs his arm and pulls him inside roughly. They still don't speak as Hawkeye pushes him against a wall, presses his body up against B.J.'s, and kisses him hard. B.J.'s arms are pinned at his sides, but he doesn't want to relinquish that much control, so he shakes off Hawkeye's hands and moves his arms, putting one hand on the back of Hawk's head and the other on his hip. Hawkeye's tongue invades his mouth and he drinks in the taste. He pulls Hawkeye closer, feeling groin meet groin, and he blindly reaches down and fumbles at Hawkeye's fly.

"Patience, patience," Hawkeye says, smiling against B.J.'s mouth. "Let me take care of you first." And he undoes B.J.'s fly, yanks his pants down, yanks his boxers down after that… then sinks slowly to his knees. Hawkeye's mouth is warm and wet while B.J.'s goes completely dry, and his pulse races, his hands reach out to grab fistfuls of Hawkeye's thick hair—

B.J. snaps awake and nearly falls out of his cot, but he manages to catch himself. He's momentarily disoriented. His heart is beating hard and he's soaked in sweat. The dreams are getting more and more erotic every night and it's driving him crazy. Has he ever been this sexually frustrated in his life? He doubts it. Not even as a teenager, discovering girls and sneaking dirty magazines into his bedroom.

The frustration is greater now because the temptation sleeps in the same tent, the temptation is around him almost every second of every day… the temptation is his best friend.

But the reality is he's married.

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, but it's no use. He won't be getting back to sleep any time soon. He turns over onto his side… and then he hears Hawkeye's voice from just a yard away: "Beej? You can't sleep and I can't sleep. Wanna go for a walk?"


	79. The Terrible Twos

**The Terrible Twos**

_(A response to the prompt "noise." Post-war story.)_

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad?"

"Hawkeye? Is that you? What the hell is that racket, son?"

Hawkeye attempted to move away from the noise, but it was futile. There was no escaping it. And the telephone cord was only so long, after all.

"That racket, Dad, is why I'm calling. This kid is driving me insane."

"What—you mean Erin? _She's _the one making that noise?"

"She's banging two pots together," Hawkeye nearly shouted to be heard over the din. "Continuously."

"Oh, _that's _what that is." His father chuckled, but Hawkeye was not amused. "Son, why don't you just take the pots away from her?"

"You think I didn't try that? I'm not stupid, Dad. She started screeching at the top of her lungs. I mean, it was ear-splitting. I gave her the pots back. Wouldn't want the neighbors to think I was murdering the child." Daniel said something then but Hawkeye didn't hear. "I'm sorry, Dad… say again?"

His dad put a little more volume into his voice. "I said, where's B.J.?"

"That's just it—he got called back to the hospital in the middle of supper. An emergency with one of his patients. This is my first time… you know, watching Erin all by myself." He drew a heavy sigh as he glanced in the direction of the next room, where the noise was coming from. It was unrelenting. "Lucky me, alone with a kid who's in the midst of the terrible twos."

Daniel laughed long and hard at that. "You're getting quite the baptism of fire, sounds like."

"I tried reasoning with her, yelling at her, threatening to spank her. I'm at a loss, Dad. I don't think she's the least bit intimidated by me."

"Don't take it personally, son." Daniel chuckled some more.

"You're getting too much enjoyment out of this, Dad."

"It's just… well, you know I love you to death, Hawkeye, but I never really imagined you as the parenting type. And this little girl sounds like a real handful."

"She certainly is—" Just then, the bashing together of two pots was joined by stomping as the little angel decided to start marching around while making her music. Hawkeye rolled his eyes and mentally waved the white flag. "Dad, I'm going to have to call you back later, after the kid's down for the night. I just hope I can get that to happen, eventually."

"Good luck!" his dad said, sounding cheerful.

Hawkeye gritted his teeth. "Thanks for finding humor in my misery, Dad. Talk to you later, OK?"

"Bye, son. Try to be patient with the child."

Hawkeye hung up and whirled around as Erin stomped into the room, bang-bang-banging away. "Erin, can you stop that, please?"

She did indeed stop, but only long enough to say, "No!"

_No_. A two-year-old's favorite word. Hawkeye pasted a smile on his face and tried a new strategy. "Do you want to play a game?"

"No!" She began to bang the pots again, and since she was so close by, the noise was now brain-numbing.

Hawkeye could feel himself starting to lose control. He could feel the tension in his shoulders spreading throughout his body, threatening to manifest itself in some inadvisable way. He took a deep breath and moved toward Erin, but she stood her ground. He towered over her, but she appeared unafraid.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Without even knowing he was going to do it, Hawkeye abruptly sat down next to her and began singing at the top of his lungs in accompaniment to her musical pots. "La la la la la!" he sang nonsensically.

Erin immediately stopped banging, she was so thrown off guard. She stared at him, her mouth a perfect little O, and he just kept on singing. Very loudly. "La la la la la!"

After a moment of open-mouthed gaping, she started to smile. And then after another moment, she started to giggle. Soon she was giggling out of control. Hawkeye kept singing, but her laughter was so infectious, he couldn't help smiling and then laughing along with her.

The noisy pots long forgotten, she dropped into a sitting position against his side and joined him in song.

"La la la… la la la laaaaa!" he finished with a flourish, waving his arms, and she followed suit. They applauded themselves in unison.

Hawkeye let out a big sigh and pulled Erin into an impromptu hug. She was still giggling a little. He brushed her bangs out of her eyes and asked her, "What do you think, you want to play a game now, Erin?"

But she shook her head no. "I'm tired," she said, and he could see that her eyes were indeed getting that glazed look. He stole a glance over at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see it was just about her bedtime. It'd been such an enormously stressful evening that he'd lost all track of time.

Grateful beyond belief, he smiled at her and said, "OK, let's get you ready for bed, young miss. You want to be carried?"

She nodded mutely, and he picked her up in his arms and carried her off to bed.

* * *

A half hour later, he was still sitting on her bed, watching her sleep, when B.J. came home and eventually made his way to her room.

"Hey Hawk?" the soft voice behind him pulled him out of his reverie. "Everything go all right?"

Hawkeye turned to look at B.J., running his eyes over the beautiful man framed in the doorway who was unaware of the mayhem that had transpired in his house on this night. He smiled. "Yeah, Beej. We were just fine."

The terrible twos weren't going to last forever, after all. But hell, even if they did, Hawkeye was starting to think he had a pretty good handle on them.


	80. Unsent

**Unsent**

_(A response to the prompt "empty." Post-war, but only by a few weeks.)_

Dear Beej,

Dear, dear Beej.

I'm writing this down, but I won't be sending it. After it's done, it'll be ripped into shreds and then flushed for good measure. The words need to come out, they _burn _to come out, but they will not be sent your way. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

You'll hear them anyway, I have no doubt. You know me better than I know myself, and you can hear me in your head… can't you? Oh yes, you can. Doesn't matter how far apart we are—even 3000 miles, on opposite coasts—we still share a brain.

Always will.

So listen. Come to me. Please, whatever it takes, come back to me. Bring me back from this darkness, this pain, this enormously empty feeling that has seeped into my bones. This isn't how it's supposed to be. This can't be my life. I paste a smile on my face and I go about my business, and the days go by, but the truth of the matter is I feel so damn empty and lost and broken. I look at myself in the mirror and I _appear _to be whole, but that isn't how I feel. A part of me is missing, the part of me that somehow got so entangled with you that it doesn't exist without you.

I know you feel the same way. I know you're hurting too. You love me just as much as I love you.

Crazy, huh? All those words I used to hear and never understood. One true love… epic love… soul mate…

I used to scoff.

And then I met you.

Those words suddenly made sense. The _world _made sense. You and me… we breathe together, we bleed together. We need to be together.

So come, Beej. Come and save me. You can hear me, I know you can. I'm calling for you… I'm reaching for you… You can see me drowning.

If you love me, you'll come.


	81. Truth or Dare

**Truth or Dare**

_(A response to the prompt "dare.")_

"Truth or dare?" B.J. asks, and even as he says it, he chuckles a little. _So this is what it's come to, has it. We're so bored that we're actually playing a kids' game._ Another chuckle as this thought follows: _As if this is the only time we've done something childish._

"Um, truth," Hawkeye answers, then sips his martini and smacks his lips.

B.J. groans inwardly, not the least bit prepared for a "truth" question. He goes with an oldie but a goodie. "What was the last lie you told?"

Hawkeye cuts him a look. "Tsk tsk, Beej. So very unoriginal, don't you think? The last lie I told was but 20 minutes ago, when I assured Charles he looked dashing and handsome as he headed out for his date with Nurse Carson."

B.J. gives a shrug. "He didn't look half bad, Hawk. All freshly showered and shaved, and with his little patch of hair combed so nicely. That wasn't enough of a lie to count. Dig deeper."

Hawkeye laughs. "No, no. You asked me a question and I told you the truth, as I was required to do. Now it's my turn."

B.J. makes the universal gesture for "go ahead," and watches as Hawkeye shifts into a sitting position on the edge of his cot. He's staring at B.J. intensely as he says, "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," B.J. says with a smile, expecting a question equally as trite as the one he asked Hawk.

There's a pause, and then Hawkeye says, softly, "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go to bed with a man?"

And B.J.'s mouth goes dry. An answer refuses to form in his stunned head. Instead of replying he says, "Dare."

Hawkeye doesn't miss a beat. "Kiss me," he says, and moves swiftly to the other man's cot, sitting right up against B.J., staring into his eyes, so close his breath is warm on B.J.'s face.

And it's a dare, so B.J. kisses him. Of course he does. It's a game and there are rules, and B.J. always plays by the rules.

Hawkeye's mouth is moist and warm and tastes of gin. B.J. has never kissed a face with stubble before, but he finds it doesn't bother him… it's kind of… interesting.

The whole thing is interesting, actually. And sweet. B.J. can feel warmth spread throughout his body, not the least of which is a pleasant surge of heat pooling in his groin.

After a time it occurs to him that they've been kissing for much longer than a simple dare would seem to warrant, and it doesn't seem either one of them is inclined to stop. B.J. realizes he ought to feel shame and guilt, maybe even distaste, but he doesn't. _This would be a great "truth" question_, he thinks crazily… _You just kissed a guy… and you liked it, didn't you?_

Hawkeye's the first to break contact, and he gives a lopsided smile as he pulls back and studies B.J.'s face. They gaze at one another for a very long moment. B.J.'s at a loss for words, but he doesn't feel uncomfortable or nervous or anything like that. He just doesn't have any idea what to say.

So Hawkeye is also the first to break the silence, and he says simply, "Your turn."

B.J. blinks. "Game over," he manages to croak out.

Hawkeye seems utterly unfazed. By everything. He stands and goes to the still, pouring himself another drink. "Well OK," he says nonchalantly, "but if you don't want to play anymore… _now _what are we gonna do?"

"Oh… I have a feeling we'll think of something," B.J. replies, putting just the right lilt into his voice.

Hawkeye turns sharply to look at him, eyebrows raised. And then a slow, knowing grin spreads across his face.


	82. The Porch Swing

**The Porch Swing**

_(A response to the prompt "date." Post-war story, by many years.)_

B.J. turned his attention from the street and toward the front door when he heard it opening. Hawkeye stepped out of the house without comment and joined him on the porch swing, making it rock to and fro a couple times before bringing it to a halt again. His arm snaked out across B.J.'s shoulders and he leaned over, resting his head against B.J.'s briefly.

"Nice night," Hawkeye murmured.

"Yeah. It is."

B.J. remembered when Hawkeye had bought this porch swing, many years ago (on a whim, without discussion, just bringing it home one day when he was supposed to be out shopping for clothing)… B.J. had actually rolled his eyes at the time, thinking a swing on the front porch of a house in the suburbs was about as Norman Rockwell as you could get. And wasn't that just like Hawkeye? Small-town Hawkeye, the man who'd talked so longingly about his idyllic childhood and his little swimming hole and knowing the names of everybody in his neighborhood. Sure, Hawkeye had eventually left Crabapple Cove, but the Cove had never left him.

Now B.J. smiled, thinking that this porch swing had been an inspired purchase after all, cliché or no. They'd spent many a perfectly ordinary yet somehow magical evening on their lovely swing over the years... the memories were plentiful and wonderful.

And tonight… well, tonight they were sitting on it while they waited (a little anxiously, at least in B.J.'s case) for their daughter to come home. Erin, at 16 years and 3 months of age, was out on her first real date.

Hawkeye ran his hand lightly over B.J.'s back and shoulders, commenting, "Your shoulders are a little tense. Don't worry, she's fine, Beej. She'll be home soon."

"I know. It's just…" He sighed, looked Hawk in the eyes. "Our little girl sure is growing up, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is. And she's beautiful and sweet and level-headed and smart. Pretty much the perfect young lady."

B.J. grinned at his partner, leaned back into his embrace. "We did a good job raising her, didn't we? With help from Peg, of course."

"Of course. And yes, we did."

"And pretty soon…" B.J. trailed off, but he knew that Hawkeye understood what he was thinking.

Sure enough… "Pretty soon she'll be moving out and heading off to college."

"It'll be here before we know it, Hawk."

If it was possible, Hawkeye pulled him even closer. "Yeah, but just think about it. We'll have the house to ourselves then. We'll be able to walk around naked if we want to. We'll be able to have sex in any room in the house—even on the kitchen table if we want."

"Ew. I don't think we'll want to do that."

"But the point is, we could. Of course we'll miss her, Beej, but it's the next natural step. Kids grow up and they move on, they become adults, become self-reliant. And Erin's going to be an amazing young woman. She already is."

Just then their attention was drawn down the street as Donny's car (or rather, his father's car) gingerly turned the corner and putt-putted to a stop in front of their house. The young man left the car idling at the curb while he jumped out and circled it, opened Erin's door for her, helped her out, and walked her to the house. They were laughing lightly at some shared joke.

Erin's eyes went wide as she approached her porch and saw her dads sitting there on the swing.

"You guys!" she exclaimed, looking mortified. "This is embarrassing. I can't even give my date a goodnight kiss without my dads having a front-row seat?"

B.J. thought, _'Give my date a goodnight kiss'… did I really just hear my little girl say those words? _

Erin quickly turned to her date. "Donny, you can take a rain check on the goodnight kiss if you want, since my dads are here, blatantly watching us. I know they can be intimidating."

But Donny was a self-confident kind of guy, and he shrugged, saying, "That's OK, I don't mind if they watch." He leaned into Erin and gave her a kiss on the mouth… not necessarily quick, but not lingering either. Then, with something that resembled a bow, he addressed Hawkeye and B.J., "Thank you for letting me take Erin out tonight, sirs. We had fun."

B.J. was rendered mute, but Hawkeye said, "No problem, Donny. I'm glad you two had a nice time."

Donny waved at the three of them and hurried back to his car, throwing a "See you at school!" to Erin over his shoulder.

Erin joined her fathers on the porch, standing in front of them with her hands on her hips. "Really, was it necessary to be waiting out here for us like a couple of mother hens?"

Hawkeye laughed. "That's pretty much what we are. Your date didn't seem to mind it. Kissed you anyway. I didn't see any tongue, so he's off the hook."

Erin threw her hands up in exasperation and headed for the door, but finally B.J. found his voice and stopped her. "Erin?"

She turned, hitching her purse strap back up onto her shoulder because it'd slipped. She looked so terribly mature to him all of a sudden. "Yeah, Dad?"

He smiled at her, stared long and hard at her 16-year-old face, remembering vividly the day she was born. "Did you like him? Was it a good date?"

Her smile matched his. Her voice was softer now as she answered, "I did and it was. I think we're going to go out again. Is that all right?"

B.J. exchanged a look with Hawkeye and they nodded in unison. "Yeah. Of course that's all right. If he treats you well, and you like him, then we like him."

"Great!" She disappeared into the house, a bit of a skip in her step.

B.J. let out a sigh. His daughter's first date, over and done with. He could relax now. She was home, safe and sound, and she'd had a nice time. He put a hand in Hawkeye's hair and pulled him in for a kiss. They were allowed to use tongue, and did.

"Time does fly," B.J. said wistfully.

"To coin a phrase," Hawkeye teased.

"One thing that never changes, though…?"

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You and me. Here. Together."

Hawkeye linked his fingers with B.J.'s… tight… tighter. "I'm never going anywhere, Beej."

They started to push the swing back and forth as they sat there on the porch in silence, holding hands.


	83. The Science of Attraction

_(Author's Note: Special thanks to running-still85 for the nice words; hope these next couple of ficlets are enough to tide you over for now.)_

**The Science of Attraction**

_(A response to the prompt "crush." Post-war.)_

Erin sorted through the papers in front of her on the kitchen table. "Didn't we already write this down?" she asked Judy. "I thought you were taking notes when we were talking about this before."

"Gotta be here," Judy said, helping Erin sift through the mess. "Wait—here it is." She handed over the notes in question.

Erin took a look. "Geez, your handwriting it almost as bad as my dad's. OK, this is good. Now we just need to get everything in the right order, so that it makes sense, and then we can type it all up. Which scientist do you think we should start with?"

Hawkeye flitted into the kitchen then, pausing to open up the fridge and root around for something to eat. "Scientist?" he asked over his shoulder.

Erin watched him pluck a leftover chicken leg from some aluminum foil and bite into it. He closed the fridge, apparently happy with his selection, and she made a face. "Ewww. That's cold chicken."

"Yum," he said, munching. "It's perfectly good cold. Anyway, you were saying… scientist?"

Erin gestured toward her classmate. "Judy and I are doing a science project together. We have to write up a report on famous physicists and why we admire them. I say we should start with Marie Curie, since she's a woman. What do you think, Judy?"

Judy was watching Hawkeye nibbling on the chicken leg as if it were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. She didn't even seem to hear the question until Erin poked her arm. She tore her eyes away from Hawkeye and nodded at Erin. "Marie Curie is a good one to start with, sure."

"Sounds like an interesting report, girls," Hawkeye said in between bites. "I'll want to read it when you're done." He finished the chicken and tossed the bone and aluminum foil in the trashcan as he made his way out of the kitchen. "I'll leave you to your school work, but call me if you need help with anything, OK?"

"OK," Erin said, getting back to organizing their notes. "So we start with Marie Curie…" She looked up and saw that Judy was paying no attention, staring after Hawkeye. "What's with you? We were making such good progress and now you're… I don't know, not focusing at all."

Judy said, "He's really, really cute."

"Huh?" Erin blinked.

"Your dad," Judy said with a nod of her head in the direction he'd gone. "Your Hawkeye dad," she amended, remembering that Erin had two. She frowned. "What do you call him? Do you call them both Dad?"

Erin could just imagine the look of utter confusion on her face. "I call him Hawkeye, usually, but sometimes he's Dad. It just depends. I don't know." She shook her head, got back on track. "What did you say before? You think he's cute?"

Judy smiled dreamily. "Yeah. I think he's _movie-star _cute. Wow."

Erin sat forward, studying Judy's face. "So wait a minute. That's why you picked me as a science partner… so you could come to the house and see Hawkeye?"

"Well… uh…" The hesitation was answer in itself. "You're also really smart, Erin—"

"No, don't give me that. I was wondering why you picked me for this project, since you'd barely ever spoken to me before. It was because of Hawkeye." She slapped her pen down, angry. "Well thanks a lot."

Judy laughed a little. "Why are you mad? I said you're smart. I knew you—_we_—would do a good report together. And we are. This is turning out to be really good—"

"Never mind," Erin said, trying to rein in her annoyance as she gathered their papers into a pile. "Let's just get this thing done. I'll type up all the notes later tonight."

Judy, apparently not knowing when to drop a subject, said, "What's the big crime in drooling over a guy?"

"Because he's my _dad_."

"So?"

"And because he's in love with my other dad. And the idea that you have a crush on him… it's just… it's weird. You wanted to come to the house to… what? What did you think would happen? He'd magically find you irresistible or something?"

Judy sat up straighter in her seat, as if offended. "My mother says that homosexuality is just a phase."

Erin's eyes went wide. "Oh my God. Are you kidding me? They've been together since I was 2 years old!"

They heard the front door open and immediately stopped talking. Erin could still feel the heat in her face. All of a sudden she couldn't wait for Judy to go home. This would be their first and last project together, she vowed.

B.J. came into the kitchen, put his briefcase on the kitchen table, and said, "Hey girls. How's the report coming along?"

"Fine, Dad," Erin said, tapping the notes in front of her. "We're almost done."

"It's A-plus work, Dr. Hunnicutt," Judy assured him.

Hawkeye came back into the kitchen then, apparently having heard the front door. "Beej!" he gushed, coming up behind his partner and circling his arms around him. He planted a quick kiss on B.J.'s right ear. "Welcome home. I made sure the girls worked hard on their homework." He winked at the teens over B.J.'s shoulder.

B.J. turned to face Hawkeye, smirking. "I'll bet. Do you even know what they're doing?"

"Sure I do. A report on physicists." He sounded so pleased with himself. "We'll want to read that one for sure. Sounds like riveting stuff."

B.J. agreed with a grin and ruffled Hawkeye's hair, and when he leaned in and kissed Hawkeye full on the mouth, Erin couldn't help herself, she had to see Judy's reaction. Her dads were so obviously in love, and while she was used to their displays of mutual adoration, she seriously doubted that Judy had been expecting this.

And sure enough, Judy turned a bright red and cast her gaze away from the men, suddenly fascinated by her science textbook. The kiss went on and on, which under other circumstances would have caused no end of embarrassment for Erin, but in this particular case was quite welcome.

Talk about chemistry. Even Marie Curie would've been astounded.

By the time B.J. finally broke the kiss and disentangled himself from Hawkeye's clutches, it was fairly obvious Judy's crush was smashed to bits.

Erin started to pack up the notes and books in front of her, indicating to Judy that she should do the same. "We're done here," she said pointedly.

Judy nodded. "Yeah," she said, standing up and taking one last look at Hawkeye and B.J., disappointment written all over her face. "All done."

Erin showed her to the door and they said their goodnights. Leaning back against the closed door, she rolled her eyes. Sure, their report was a good one, but next time, she'd be the one selecting a project partner instead of the other way around.


	84. Dear Sigmund Again

**Dear Sigmund Again**

_(A response to the prompt "visiting." Post-war. Uses the same idea as the episode "Dear Sigmund," and refers to an incident in "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen.")_

Dear Sigmund,

It's nearly a year now since the Korean War ended, so why do you suppose I feel the need to continue to follow up with some patients? Well, in the case of Hawkeye, we're friends too, but I have to confess that when I come to visit him, as I'm doing this weekend, it's partially out of curiosity to see how he's coming along in his post-war life.

He and B.J. live together now, you know, and I don't believe I've ever seen a happier couple. They finish each other's sentences, laugh raucously at each other's jokes, gaze at each other with adoring eyes. When Hawkeye's telling one of his stories, B.J. subconsciously puts his hand on Hawkeye's arm and beams.

I wonder what you would think, Sigmund, about these two. Both of them avowed heterosexuals—one of them married and happily so—until they met each other. And then everything they thought they knew about themselves went out the window. Oh, I know very well your views on innate bisexuality, and these two men certainly seem to make a case for your hypothesis!

Last night Hawkeye joined me on the front porch as I was about to start writing this letter, and he broached the subject himself. He sat down next to me and at first he started in with the small talk… nice night, so good to see you again Sid, all the usual.

Then B.J. appeared at the front door long enough to tell us that he was going to phone Peg and check on Erin, but that he'd be out to join us in a few minutes.

I caught the unguarded expression on Hawkeye's face as he and his lover had the ordinary exchange of a couple fully entrenched in domesticity and routine. He saw me watching him, and he tilted his head, his eyes inquiring. "So, tell me something, Sidney. Back then… did you know?" The implication was clear.

Did I know, back during the war, that these two men had something? That they were going to end up together?

People seem to think we're omniscient, Sigmund. That as psychiatrists, our insight into the human psyche somehow makes us all-knowing. "No," I started to tell Hawkeye, but then something occurred to me, and I said, "Well, let me qualify that. I didn't _know_, but at the same time, I can't deny that I noticed something that seemed to go beyond friendship. When I got your letter that this… relationship… had happened, I wasn't entirely surprised. It made a certain sense."

Hawkeye liked that. "It made a certain sense," he repeated. He leaned back, looking up at the moon. "Yeah. It sure did to me."

"It's probably not going to be an easy road, Hawkeye," I pointed out. "The world isn't as open-minded as we'd like to think it is."

He merely waved his hand, a gesture I knew well. "We've already come up against some of that shit, Sid. It doesn't bother us."

I chuckled. "You've both endured much worse."

"That's exactly right. After that experience in Korea, well hell… what _can't_ we handle, as long as we stick together?"

That's probably one of the reasons—maybe the _biggest_ reason—why Hawkeye's doing so damn well after the horrific way the war came to an end for him. I'm sure there are lingering effects; it's not even a full year in his rear-view mirror yet. But he's very well-adjusted and he's clearly a happy man and if the demons remain, he's keeping them at bay.

Without B.J. by his side, I'm not sure that would be the case.

So love conquers all… not exactly a new discovery, is it, Sigmund? I won't be writing any groundbreaking papers on these two, will I?

It may not be profitable or noteworthy, but even so, Sigmund… you have to love a happy ending.


	85. Lost

**Lost**

_(A response to the prompt: use the title of a TV show.)_

As he left the O Club, Hawkeye decided he could officially call himself worried. B.J. had gone missing after supper in the mess tent, and that was hours ago. Checking in the O Club and coming up empty just now sealed the deal: it was definitely not an overreaction to worry. B.J. just didn't disappear for hours at a time. It was unsettlingly out of character.

Knowing perfectly well he wasn't going to find Beej in the supply room, he headed there anyway, simply because it was someplace he hadn't checked yet.

He opened the door, saw it was dark in there, and nearly shut the door again. But something made him step inside, and sure enough, there sat B.J., on the floor of the supply room, in the dark, alone.

"Beej?" His heart was hammering. This wasn't normal behavior for anyone, much less Happy Hunnicutt.

"I'm all right, Hawk," came the soft reply in the darkness. "I mean, for the most part."

Hawkeye turned on the light and shut the door, moving to sit down next to B.J. on the dirty floor. "Something you want to talk about?" he asked cautiously. He was on alert, beyond worried now, actually approaching panic.

"I just needed some quiet time. Some time to think, that's all."

"Think about…?"

B.J. looked down at his hands for a moment and then shifted his gaze to Hawkeye's face. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Hawk curled his arm around B.J.'s waist, pulling him close. "I gotta tell ya, Beej, you're scaring me a little." He kissed the other man's cheek, breathed into his ear, "Talk to me."

B.J.'s mouth curved up in a small, bittersweet smile. "I've lost myself, you know? I honestly, seriously don't recognize the B.J. Hunnicutt I see in the mirror these days." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, seemed to gather his thoughts, and went on. "I've got an addiction. To you." And then he began to speak in a kind of rhythm, as though he were reciting poetry. "I'm addicted to the feeling of your stubble scratching between my shoulder blades. The sounds you make… tiny, sweet moans that echo around in my head. The feeling of your warm, sweaty skin as I run my fingers over it. I can't get enough of you." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "What happened to the man who vowed lifelong devotion to his wife? Or who would have thrown himself in front of a train before he'd do anything that might hurt his little girl?"

Hawkeye tightened his embrace, but wasn't entirely sure what to say. Finally he bit the bullet and asked the question he dreaded. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. It sounds like… Do you want to… stop?"

"God, no. That's not what I'm saying at all. My world is turned upside down, Hawk. When I came to Korea, I thought I knew who I was. No, I was _positive _I knew who I was. Now I don't know myself. I don't know anything. Except that I love you."

Hawkeye touched another kiss to B.J.'s cheek. It was all he could think to do. "How can I help you?"

B.J. shook his head. "I don't think there's an answer to that question, Hawk. Just… bear with me. _Be _with me."

"Absolutely," Hawk whispered.

B.J. turned to look directly into his eyes and just stared mutely for a long moment. Then he reached out and ran a finger along Hawkeye's jawline. "And put the hanger on the door, turn that damn light back off, then come back here and keep me warm."

Hawkeye was only too happy to oblige.


	86. The Big Sleep

**The Big Sleep**

_(A response to the prompt: use the title of a classic film. Post-war story.)_

B.J. stopped short when he stepped into the bedroom and saw Hawkeye standing at the mirror tying his necktie, putting the finishing touches on his dark-gray suit.

"Uh, I found a good box, Hawk. It's just the right size."

"Good." Hawkeye glanced over, raised his eyebrows. "You're going to change into a suit, aren't you, Beej?"

"Sure, sure," B.J. was quick to say, even though he hadn't been planning to do any such thing.

Hawkeye must've sensed his lack of enthusiasm because he said, "We promised we'd take this seriously, Beej. For our daughter."

And B.J. nodded. "You're right, Hawk," he said, moving toward the closet to pick out his best dark suit. "I'll change."

Hawkeye, now done tying his tie, took one last look in the mirror and was apparently pleased with his appearance. He stepped out of B.J.'s way. "Join us out back just as soon as you're ready," he said over his shoulder as he left the room.

B.J. pulled a suit out of the closet and kicked off his sneakers, strangely touched by how much thought and effort Hawkeye was putting into this. B.J. never would've considered changing clothes for the occasion, but it was sure to make an impression on Erin, to see her fathers dressed up and somber.

After all, Humphrey Bogart was dead.

Not the actor, that is; as far as B.J. knew, Bogie the actor was still alive and well and probably filming his next picture down in Hollywood. The Bogie who was dead was Erin's cat, who had come to them as a stray only a year ago, walking up to the house during a nasty rainstorm and acting like he belonged there. Kind-hearted Erin had insisted they let him inside to get warm and dry, and after that… he'd just stayed. B.J. and Hawkeye didn't have the heart to ask Erin to give him up, even though she already had a dog and one other cat. She was good with her pets, and took care of them as best she could at the tender age of 6, and her dads didn't see any reason to force her to give any of them up.

But along with pet ownership came—unfortunately—pet loss, and poor Bogie had succumbed to kidney failure earlier in the day. Apparently overnight he'd gone into hiding, as cats do when they know they are seriously ill, and by the time Erin realized she had a sick kitty on her hands, it was too late. She was taking the loss hard, but when Hawkeye suggested a funeral and burial out in the back yard, she threw herself into the idea, eager to memorialize Bogie's short life in that way.

B.J. had just found a box to bury the little guy in, and now he was, incredibly, changing into a dark suit to attend the cat's funeral. In this household, it seemed par for the course.

After he was properly dressed, down to his Sunday-best shoes, he joined Hawkeye and Erin in the back yard, where Bogie the cat had already been placed into the wooden box at Erin's feet. She was putting a flower inside the box with him when B.J. arrived, standing next to Hawkeye and placing a hand on the small of his back.

Hawkeye turned, said softly as he pointed, "I've dug a hole over there. Think it's deep enough?"

B.J. took a look and nodded. "Sure, Hawk. Thanks."

Erin put the lid on the wooden box and stood up, her little face so innocent as she looked at her dads. B.J. could see her eyes were red from crying, but this whole funeral idea was clearly helping her adjust.

Hawkeye took the lead, opening up B.J.'s Bible and reading a passage from Ecclesiastes 3 before adding the personal message, "Bogie was a good cat, and I'll miss him. Erin, would you like to say anything?"

Her voice was small and a little shaky as she said, "He was soft and cute, and he seemed happy because he purred a lot. I loved him."

B.J. couldn't think of much to add, but managed to come up with, "We were happy to have Bogie as a member of our family, even if it was just for a short time. May he rest in peace."

Hawkeye placed the box in the ground, and he and B.J. covered it with dirt while Erin watched on solemnly. Sure, Bogie was only a cat, and B.J. had felt a little silly going to all this trouble, but now the whole thing felt weighty and important. He and Hawkeye were supporting their little girl in her sorrow and helping her through it. It gave him such a strong feeling of family and togetherness.

The grave covered, he and Hawkeye took a few steps back and let Erin stand there beside it, coming to terms with her loss. B.J. put an arm around Hawkeye and pulled him close. "Thanks for all this, Hawk," he whispered. "It was exactly the right thing to do."

Hawkeye looked into B.J.'s eyes, and there was still something about those beautiful blue orbs that made B.J. weak in the knees, even after all this time. "This family helps each other through everything, no matter how big or small," Hawk declared, as if voicing some kind of Pierce-Hunnicutt manifesto.

"Yeah," B.J. agreed with a small smile. "That's us." He leaned over and gave Hawkeye a kiss on the mouth, followed quickly by another.

Erin turned around and caught them kissing, but her mind was elsewhere. "When can I get a new cat?" she asked.


	87. Close Call

**Author's Note:** Here is my current thinking about this not-so-little collection of ficlets. I'm thinking when I get to 100—if I do get that far—that will be a good place to stop. That's a nice even (and large) number. It's not that I'm lacking prompts; I actually have an abundance of prompts from various writing communities. It's more a matter of not wanting to repeat myself. Some of you may be muttering, "Too late for that, Todash." Well, I hope these fics are still more on the fresh side than the repetitious, boring side. But I do think it's time to start winding down. Thanks to all who are still reading!

* * *

**Close Call**

_(A response to the prompt "comfort." Takes place during the episode "Where There's a Will, There's a War.")_

"Hawkeye Pierce is alive and well and living in Battalion Aid. He left his fingerprints all over this guy. Who else but Hawkeye sews vertical mattress stitches with white cotton sutures?"

Once I'd said those words, the rest of the OR session seemed to zip right by. He was fine. Hawkeye was alive. Yes, horribly, a doctor had been killed out there closer to the front… but what a relief to discover it hadn't been _my _doctor.

I shuffled into the Swamp, dead tired but unable to wipe the smile from my face. A colossal weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and I was looking forward to sleeping in peace, not a care in the world… with visions of Hawkeye dancing in my head.

I glanced down at his cot to see his red bathrobe, which had been tossed haphazardly in his hurry to leave. Instinctively, I crawled onto the cot and buried my face in the red cloth, breathing in. His smell permeated the thing, and even as it gave me indescribable comfort, it also brought sudden tears to my eyes as I realized how close I'd come to losing him…

Stop it_,_ I scolded myself. There'd been enough of that kind of thinking when his fate had been unknown. Now was the time to be grateful and rejoice in the happy ending.

And so I rubbed my face in the soft red robe and thought of his smile, his bright blue eyes, his crazy laugh. I thought of our first kiss, the first night we slept clinging to each other, our latest trip to Seoul and the afternoon spent in bed.

I fell asleep with my mind and my senses full of him. A short time later, I awoke with a start and knew I couldn't be found—by Charles or anyone else—on Hawkeye's bed, cuddling his clothing. I reluctantly got up and staggered over to my own cot.

And went immediately unconscious again.

The next time I woke, it was to the sound of someone dropping into the chair at my side with a heavy sigh, and I knew even before I opened my eyes that it was Hawk.

He was a sight for sore—and exhausted—eyes. If I'd had any energy at all, I would've been all over him, kissing and hugging and embarrassing myself. But my body was heavy with fatigue and my mind was just an inch or two away from pure mush. There would be time for physical affection later. I managed a small smile and mumbled, "Hey. When I wake up, remind me to give you a kiss."

"Go back to sleep," his deep, sexy, soothing voice said, and to be honest, I was already three-quarters there. "You're dreaming."

Yeah, I thought as I drifted away… _Sweet_ dreams.


	88. Christmas Break

**Christmas Break**

_(A response to the prompt "work." Post-war story.)_

B.J. stepped out into the night air, finding Hawkeye exactly where he expected to, sitting on the picnic table just outside the back door. It was a little chilly out here, but not uncomfortable, and anyway, it was pretty much the only place where they could be guaranteed privacy while staying on hospital grounds.

"Merry Christmas," B.J. said as he took a seat next to Hawkeye on the table. It was the first time all day they'd seen each other, apart from 7 o'clock that morning when they were frantically trying to get Erin dressed and ready to go to her mom's.

Hawkeye took a quick look around to make sure they were indeed alone, and then he leaned over and gave B.J. a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Beej."

Hawkeye'd had to work on Christmas Day… it was simply his turn in the rotation. And so B.J. had swapped shifts with another doctor so they would both be on duty during the holiday, ensuring they'd both be off at the same time as well. There were worse things than working on Christmas Day, B.J. reasoned. He and Hawkeye would just celebrate with Erin the next day, that's all.

B.J. looked into Hawkeye's face, tilting his head. He was a little surprised to read melancholy in his lover's expression. "What are you thinking about?"

Hawkeye leaned back on his elbows and B.J. followed suit, both of them looking up into the clear night sky. With a sigh, Hawkeye said, "Oh… a lot of things. For starters, that it ought to be snowing on Christmas—this climate will just never seem right to me this time of year. And that it was really sweet of you to volunteer to work today so we'd be sure to have tomorrow together. But most of all, I'm thinking about Erin, and that I hope she had a fun Christmas Day."

Touched, B.J. inched closer to Hawkeye. "I'm sure she did. Peg was making a huge meal, all of Erin's favorite foods. Don't worry about her… that little girl does not want for anything, that's for damn sure. Her mom and her dads spoil her rotten."

Hawkeye laughed softly. No doubt thinking of the myriad presents that were sitting under their tree even as they spoke, waiting to be ripped open. "Yeah… well… I miss her. Holiday and all that… we shouldn't be away from our daughter."

B.J. rested his head on Hawkeye's shoulder. "You're a bigger sentimental fool than I am, and that's really saying something. Remember all the complaining I did in Korea, how every little thing made me miss Erin? Hell, just putting my boots on in the morning made me miss Erin. Who would've guessed you'd be worse than me?"

"OK, OK," Hawkeye said. "Point taken. Stop wallowing, right?"

"Well I think it's sweet that you're so sentimental—and such a caring father," B.J. added. "But we'll all be together tomorrow, and that sure as hell beats being thousands of miles apart."

Hawkeye turned then, looking B.J. directly in the eyes, admiration written all over his face. "I don't know how you did it."

B.J. cupped Hawkeye's jaw and then brought their mouths together. "I had help," he said softly. "I had the most amazing man helping me get through it."

They leaned together, both of them aware that their respective breaks should be over by now, but reluctant to head back inside just yet. _Eh, go ahead and take another five minutes, _B.J. told himself.

_After all, it's Christmas._


	89. Drunken Confessions

**Drunken Confessions**

_(A response to the prompt "drunk." Pre-slash.)_

B.J. had thought the singing was irritating (especially since it was off-key and loud), but as it turned out, the silence was worse. Because the silence was a bit worrying.

"You with me, Hawk?" he asked, trying to get some kind of response as he supported his tentmate, slowly walking him from Rosie's toward home. Well, toward the Swamp, which (sad as it was) defined "home" during their interminable stay in Korea.

Still no reply, so B.J. took a second to stop and give Hawk a couple of pats on his cheek. "Hawk?"

The physical assault did the trick. "Hey!" Hawkeye protested, turning sharply to glare at his companion. "Stop hittin' me!"

B.J. relaxed. Indignation was preferable to utter silence any day. "Just wanted to make sure I wasn't dragging home an unconscious drunkard."

That earned a weak smile, Hawkeye's mood turning on a dime. "Nah… just a conscious one. _Barely _conscious one."

"We're just about home," B.J. promised, though they were moving slowly. Hawkeye's feet were being uncooperative, attached as they were to an unsteady body.

"Uh-kay." Hawkeye leaned in even closer to his companion, gave him the once-over. "You're not drunk."

"Very observant, Hawk. No, I didn't drink myself under the table tonight, like somebody else we know. I switched to Grape Nehi pretty early in the evening."

"Yuck. How come?"

B.J. shrugged. "You seemed intent on getting blotto, and I thought one of us should stay sober. In case there are casualties… I'd be able to work. I could cover for you…"

"Won't be any casualties," Hawkeye muttered bitterly. "No wounded for four days now. Nothin' to do. It's weird, huh? We hate to see the broken bodies, the kids all shot up. We hate to have to do our jobs. But we almost hate it more when there aren't any casualties, because the days just stretch out forever. You know?"

B.J. loved the fact that Hawkeye could be so perceptive and eloquent, even drunk out of his mind.

They walked past the O Club and could hear music from the jukebox and the laughter of partying people. B.J. was surprised that Hawkeye didn't want to stop in there and extend their evening, but apparently he was as tired as he was drunk.

"When did it turn around?" Hawkeye suddenly asked. "When did you start taking care of me?"

B.J. cocked his head. "You think there's been a reversal of roles?"

"Hell yes." They were finally at the Swamp, and B.J. opened the door and led Hawkeye to his cot. Hawk collapsed onto it face up, then turned onto his side to watch B.J. take a seat on his own cot. "You came here… so young… so naïve. I thought, can't let this guy become all hardened and cyn…" Hawkeye hiccupped before finishing, "cynical. Can't let him become like me."

B.J. laughed softly. "Nothing wrong with being like you, Hawk."

It was as if Hawkeye hadn't even heard. Almost as if he were talking to himself. "I wanted to protect you… just wrap my arms around you and keep you as innocent and sweet as the day you showed up in this rotten, godforsaken place…"

The combination of the words and the way Hawkeye spoke them made B.J.'s mouth go dry, made his heart hammer.

"You were… perfect." Hawk's voice was soft, his eyes heavy-lidded. The expression on his face was filled with… well, there was no other way to describe it. Filled with longing. "Perfect and beautiful. I don't use'ly go for the hot-dog-and-apple-pie types, y'know. But on you… oh man, on you, it's sexy as hell."

B.J. had no idea what to say. He kept trying to think of something clever but nothing was coming to him.

As it turned out, he didn't have to say anything. While he was searching for words, Hawkeye fell asleep.

After a moment B.J. stood, went over to Hawkeye's cot, and gently ran a hand through his thick hair. He just stared for a little while, his brain on overload, a curious warmth spreading through his body.

He wasn't tired, that was for sure. He went to the door and opened it, then turned back for another look at his sleeping tentmate. He left, heading for the O Club.

He needed a drink.


	90. Kind and Generous

**Kind and Generous**

_(A response to the prompt "money." Post-war story.)_

B.J. knew the drill by now. He didn't ring the doorbell because the man wouldn't be able to get to the door and answer it anyway. He simply gave a single, loud knock before entering, to announce his visit, and then walked right in.

"Mr. DeCrane?" he called out. "It's just me, B.J."

James DeCrane lived three houses down the street from the Hunnicutt-Pierces, and he was dying. Once B.J. had found that out, he had started to visit the man three or four times a week, just to check in on him and see if he needed anything. DeCrane had almost-round-the-clock nursing, but that was just medical attention and not much else. B.J. wanted to offer conversation and consolation… whatever he could do to help ease the man's final days.

"Come on in, B.J.," a weakened voice beckoned from the bedroom. B.J. headed in that direction.

The man was very wealthy, B.J. had recently learned, though he lived modestly. His house was an ordinary split-level, not a whole lot bigger than B.J. and Hawkeye's rancher. He didn't flaunt his wealth; B.J. hadn't even been aware of it until it came up in conversation a few days before. DeCrane had said he was going to have his will altered to include Erin, leaving her enough money to cover her college education in full. B.J. had objected strongly, saying he could provide for his own daughter, but DeCrane had insisted. He didn't have any close family, just nieces and nephews who lived far away and didn't really stay in touch, and he wanted Erin to have the money.

"You've been a good neighbor," he'd said at the time. "No, more than that. You've become a good friend in just a short time, and I want to do this."

B.J. had finally relented, but he didn't pay these visits with any kind of compensation in mind. He just couldn't imagine dying alone and friendless, and he didn't want anyone else to have to do it.

"How are you doing today, sir?" he asked now as he approached James DeCrane's bed.

"Not bad. And yourself?"

B.J. smiled. "Fine. I'm fine, thanks." He had his stethoscope along and used it to take a quick listen of the man's heart. The nurses were good and attentive, but that didn't stop B.J. from doing his own checks from time to time.

Satisfied that DeCrane was no better or worse than the last time he'd seen him, B.J. took a seat in the chair by the bed.

"Tell me, what is it like outside today?" the ailing man asked.

"Cool, but nice and sunny. Very pretty. Would you like to sit on the porch? I think we could probably manage that…"

DeCrane seemed to get winded just at the thought of it. "Thanks, but no. No energy for that. But we can sit here and talk."

"Sure," B.J. said, making himself comfortable. "Sure we can."

"What's Erin been up to?"

And so B.J. launched into tales of Erin's latest adventures, her upcoming school play, the fact that she had gotten a yo-yo and was learning some tricks from Hawkeye.

"I've often wondered… that Hawkeye. Is he your brother? You don't look like brothers."

B.J. was surprised to realize that DeCrane didn't know the nature of his relationship with Hawk. He hadn't kept it a secret on purpose, and it gave him a start to think he'd never even implied to the man that they were a couple.

"No sir. We're… he's my boyfriend. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

DeCrane's eyes went wide. "Really?" When B.J. nodded, he asked, "You're homosexual?"

After just a millisecond of hesitation: "Yes."

Even after all this time, B.J. wasn't sure he considered himself homosexual, but when you're a man who sleeps with another man every night—and loves it—then the evidence is pretty much pointing to yes. But his marriage to Peg had not been a lie. He had loved her at the time, and he had loved the sex… it's just that eventually he discovered he loved Hawkeye more. What did that make him? Bisexual?

In his private thoughts, he liked to call himself Hawkeye-sexual. But that wasn't something he shared with other people.

"Funny," DeCrane was saying. "I had no idea."

"Is it a problem?"

The man shook his head no. "Nah. 'Course not. You're a good man, I couldn't care less who you boink."

That made B.J. laugh, long and hard.

"You two been together a long time?"

"We met in Korea. Served in the same outfit. We've been together—as in, a couple—for nearly five years." When he said it like that, it was amazing to him. It felt like a lot less than five years. Time flew when you were living your life with the wild, funny, unpredictable Hawkeye Pierce.

"But Erin… she's yours, right?"

"Yes, sir. Erin is my daughter from my first marriage." He felt himself blush. "My _only _marriage, except that I feel like Hawkeye and I are married, which is why I said it like that."

DeCrane held up a hand. "I know what you meant." All of a sudden he reached for the basin that was always within reach, and B.J. sprang into action to help. But DeCrane shook his head, saying, "Never mind. False alarm," and put the basin down again. When he resumed their conversation, he was still on the same train of thought. "So you haven't always been homosexual. That's interesting. I didn't know that people switched teams."

B.J. chuckled. "I don't think there are any rules to falling in love. Things happen, you learn about yourself and what you want out of life, and sometimes that leads to some significant changes. At least, it did for me. I fell in love with a man who started out being my best friend, and I needed to follow my heart, or I was going to regret it for the rest of my life."

"Good for you. Being that honest with yourself. That must have been hard."

B.J. shrugged, but of course it had been hard—the hardest time of his life.

"We don't live in a world that treats homosexuals particularly well," DeCrane observed.

B.J. had to agree with that. "Most people don't know about us, especially for the sake of our daughter. But we're in the right part of the country… much more liberal here than back East, which is where Hawk is from."

They heard the front door open then, and B.J. knew it was the night nurse coming on duty. DeCrane was getting visibly tired, his breathing more labored from all the talking. "Your nurse is here, and you're getting tired. I'll go." B.J. stood up, moved the chair out of the way so the nurse would be able to tend to her patient. "But I'll come again in a couple days. Do you need anything? I mean, from the grocery store, or anything like that?"

"No, B.J., but thanks. I appreciate it." The man's eyes closed and B.J. thought he'd dropped off to sleep awfully quickly, but then his lids lifted and he added softly, "He's lucky, that Hawkeye. To have such a caring man for a boyfriend."

"I tell him that all the time," B.J. joked. For some reason he felt compelled to add, his voice catching as he said it, "But I'm luckier."

B.J. said goodnight and left the man to his rest. He greeted the night nurse, giving her a brief update, before making his way home.

It ended up being the last conversation he had with James DeCrane. The old man died the next day.

He'd had his will altered to include not only Erin, but B.J. as well. For taking a few weeks out of his life to get to know an ill neighbor and keep him company, he received a quarter of a million dollars.

As if he wasn't blessed enough.


	91. Family Picnic

**Family Picnic**

_(A response to the prompt "relatives." Post-war story.)_

Hawkeye set the bowl in the middle of the table, placing it strategically next to the napkins, where it was certain not to be overlooked. Everybody would need a napkin, he reasoned. So everybody would see his bowl right there next to them—

He was suddenly aware of somebody at his side, and he turned sharply to face a 70-something woman he'd not yet been introduced to. He tried a smile, a little caught off guard, and gestured toward his bowl, "It's potato salad." As if that explained everything. He added, "I like to think it's one of my specialties."

"Uh huh," she said in a tone that seemed to suggest she was humoring him. But then she promised, "I'll be sure to sample it."

Hawkeye regrouped quickly and offered his hand. "Name's Hawkeye, ma'am. I'm here with B.J."

She took his hand, gave it a weak squeeze. "Yes, I know who you are." She stated it so matter-of-factly and devoid of inflection that Hawkeye couldn't tell if she approved or disapproved or just didn't care. Well, it was highly unlikely that she approved. Almost nobody did. "I'm B.J.'s great aunt, Dorothy."

B.J. hadn't mentioned her when he'd given Hawkeye the rundown of family members who were likely to be at the picnic. She must not have been expected to show. "Bea's aunt or Jay's aunt?" Truth be told, Hawkeye still couldn't believe those were actually B.J.'s parents' names. He would have bet money that B.J. was making that whole thing up.

"Bea's aunt."

Hawkeye nodded, and all of a sudden it felt like they were out of small talk. He tried to be surreptitious as he looked around for B.J. Where did that guy disappear to so quickly?

Dorothy apparently read his mind, saying, "Erin needed to go to the bathroom, if you're looking for B.J."

"Oh. OK." He stuck his hands into his jean pockets, hoping he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt. Surrounded by Hunnicutts but no B.J. by his side. Hawkeye Pierce rarely felt awkward and self-conscious, but today he did. He was meeting most of B.J.'s relatives for the first time at this picnic.

He ventured another look around, wondering when he could expect his partner back. It was a mystery where a bathroom would be, since they were out here in a large park, but perhaps there were facilities back near the parking lots. Hawkeye couldn't say he'd noticed.

"Don't worry," Dorothy was saying now, a soothing smile appearing on her face. "I'm not Bea. You won't get any lectures or grief from me about your relationship with B.J. From what I hear, she's been… pretty frosty toward you. Is that a fair statement?"

Hawkeye shrugged, trying to act like he was taking it all in stride. But of course it upset him that B.J.'s mom didn't appear to be accepting her son's relationship, that she still resented Hawkeye for breaking up B.J.'s fairy-tale marriage. Even Jay had warmed up over the last few months, surprisingly enough. He had absently called Hawkeye "son" once, which had meant far more to Hawkeye than Jay could have imagined.

Along with his shrug, Hawkeye said to Dorothy, "It's all right. I understand the situation's not easy for her."

"Give it time, Hawkeye," the old lady said, revealing herself to be much more amiable than he'd initially thought. "I think she'll come around. She's a good woman, and very open-minded, though perhaps you haven't seen that yet. She adored Peg, so this is an adjustment for her, but she'll soften as time goes on."

B.J. had also described his mother as "very open-minded," and Hawkeye had to hope that quality would come to the fore eventually. "Thank you, ma'am," he said to Dorothy, truly appreciating her support.

She took his arm, started to lead him in the direction of the lounge chairs underneath the shade trees. "Come, let's sit. B.J. and Erin will be back soon, I'm sure. In the meantime, you can tell me some war stories."

Hawkeye agreed, though usually he didn't like to talk about the war; it was in the too-recent past, still quite raw. But for this sweet woman, he'd be happy to make an exception. He'd tell her about Klinger. Women tended to get a real kick out of that guy's antics.

B.J. and Erin joined them just as Hawkeye was trying to adequately describe Klinger's Cleopatra outfit, and for a while Dorothy was on the receiving end of some tag-team storytelling. When the entire extended family sat down at the long row of picnic tables to eat, Dorothy heaped a large helping of Hawkeye's signature potato salad on her plate, put a forkful into her mouth, and announced to anyone who would listen that it was heavenly.

Hawkeye was on her immediate left, and she affectionately draped an arm across his shoulders and spoke to B.J., sitting across from them. "Your young man is wonderful, B.J."

The famous Hunnicutt smile took up half his face as he replied, "I think so too."

Dorothy seemed to be making sure others would hear as she added some volume to her voice. "When you were growing up, B.J., remember how we bonded when we realized we both loved fly fishing?"

"Of course," B.J. said in between bites of his hot dog.

"And now we find out that we have something else in common." Dorothy winked and gave a pointed look in Hawkeye's direction. "We both love to sleep with men."

It was too bawdy a comment for most of the group, and there was a brief moment of shocked silence. But then Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged looks and erupted into peals of laughter.

They hadn't expected to win over the entire clan in one day, so what the hell. As long as Great Aunt Dorothy gave her blessing, that was enough for now.


	92. Sometime Around Midnight

**Sometime Around Midnight**

_(A response to the prompt "fireworks." Very post-war.)_

Erin shut the front door as quietly as she could, considering the hinges had a bit of a squeak to them. It was nearly midnight and she was fairly certain her dads were asleep. Used to be they would wait up for her when she was out with Paul, but that was no longer the case. They trusted her completely… although tonight they would no doubt be unnerved if they knew what she and Paul had been doing for the past hour. No, not _that_… but it _had _been a pretty hot and heavy necking session in the back seat of Paul's Studebaker.

Paul had wanted to do more, of course, but Erin had given a firm no. Now, as she tiptoed up the staircase, she admitted to herself what her subconscious had known for weeks now. She didn't love Paul. Oh, she liked him well enough; he was fun to be with and he treated her well. But she didn't love him and she was sure she never would. There was no _pow! _to their relationship. No fireworks, as the cliché went. He was nice, but he wasn't her future.

That was why she'd put an end to the necking session and asked to be taken home. And since Paul was getting bolder and bolder with his advances, she knew she was going to have to break up with him. Such a shame. She enjoyed the dates, despite the lack of fireworks.

Erin stopped outside her dads' bedroom door. No sound from inside. She opened the door a few inches and peeked in. Sure enough, her dads were asleep… her father with his head on Hawkeye's chest and Hawkeye with his arms encircling B.J. Both of them looked as content as two people could look. Erin smiled. They were always wrapped around each other in sleep, as if they were incapable of truly resting if they were separated, even by just an inch or two.

She stared at them for a moment, then withdrew and closed their bedroom door, heading to her own room down the hall. As she changed into her pajamas, her thoughts drifted back to Paul and how she would go about breaking up with him. _Sorry, Paul, _she rehearsed in her head… _but I just don't love you._

Pretty harsh, she thought with a wince… Harsh but true.

She had just gotten into bed and was reaching to turn off the lamp when there was a rap on her door.

"Yeah?" she called out.

The door opened and her dad stood there, blinking sleepily but smiling at her. "Hey honey, just checking to make sure you're home."

"Yeah, a little while ago. I didn't want to wake you guys."

"Good date tonight?"

She flashed back to the make-out session and nearly blushed. "Yeah, Dad. We had fun. "

"Glad to hear it."

As he spoke, Hawkeye appeared behind him, his arms going around B.J.'s chest, his face burrowing into B.J.'s neck. Erin watched as her dad's unguarded expression transformed at the loving touch of his partner. There was a gleam in her dad's eyes now, a blissful smile on his lips.

"Hey, Hawk," he said softly over his shoulder, "sorry if I woke you."

Hawkeye muttered something into B.J.'s neck in response. To Erin, he still seemed to be three-quarters asleep. B.J. ran his hands over Hawkeye's arms, circled around him. "Erin's home, safe and sound. We can go back to bed."

At that, Hawkeye began to tug at him, and B.J. reached for the doorknob to close the door again. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Daddy and Hawkeye." The door closed with a click.

Erin shut off her light and stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. Intense, true love—the kind of love that you read about in fairy tales—existed. She knew because she saw it every day of her life, in the two men she lived with.

She started to drift off, her spirits lifted. Someday she'd find that kind of love herself. She was sure of it.


	93. Independence Day

**Independence Day**

_(A response to the prompt "cry." Post-war; refers to a storyline in "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen.")_

I really have no idea how to explain it to Erin, so I haven't even tried yet. She's 7 now, though, and eventually she's going to wonder. She's going to come to realize that her family doesn't celebrate the 4th of July like her friends' families do, and she's going to ask why. What could her fathers possibly have against the ultimate all-American holiday?

Oh, we don't completely ignore the 4th. Usually we sit out on the front porch steps after the sun goes down and we have those little hand-held sparklers going for a while, twirling them around. It's very low-key, and Hawkeye tries not to show it, but there's always a little melancholy showing through his smile.

We don't have a picnic, we don't go to the 4th of July parade, and we don't go watch the fireworks… we pretty much limit things to those harmless little sparklers after dark. Since Erin has never known anything different, she hasn't asked, but like I said, she's bound to notice.

I'll try to tell her the truth while sparing her the horrific details. "You see, Erin, Hawkeye had a bad experience on the 4th of July once—when we were in the war, actually. And so it's not a holiday we particularly enjoy celebrating. Oh, maybe eventually he'll want to go to picnics and watch fireworks, but so far, he doesn't feel very much like having fun on that day."

I'll let her go over to her friend Cindy's house if she wants to celebrate the way most folks celebrate. I think Hawkeye will be fine with that.

After he and I go to bed on July 4th, every year without exception, he cries. I hold him and comfort him, and usually I cry along with him, because I remember too. I remember the bus and the wailing baby and the mother doing what she thought she had to do in order to save lives.

I relive it, too, but probably not as intensely as Hawkeye does. I hold him and I love him, and I wish like hell we could hop into a time machine and undo what was done that night on the bus.

A couple years ago, I called Sidney after another 4th of July night spent drying Hawkeye's tears, and I asked if it concerned him, the fact that Hawkeye still felt so much guilt that he sobbed on the anniversary of the incident. I'm no psychiatrist, so what do I know about getting over a trauma like that? Sidney didn't think it was alarming that Hawkeye reacted so strongly once a year—an anniversary is a potent reminder and trigger. He told me I was doing all the right things. "Just be there for him, B.J. You're his rock."

And so that's our Independence Day. We get through the day, we do the sparklers with Erin in the evening, and then Hawk and I climb into bed and mourn the loss of a child who would be 5 years old now… if it weren't for that dark, dark night.

I love Hawkeye Pierce, he's my lover and my best friend and my hero. For 364 days of the year, he's pretty much perfect in my eyes.

But on that one day in July, I'm reminded of a night when he broke, when the man I love and admire came apart as a result of an unspeakable chain of events. And when I cry with him in our bed, it's partly for the loss of life, but also partly because Hawkeye should never have to live with such a weight on his soul.

The war did that to him. But the war also brought us together.

"It's a crazy world," I will tell Erin when the time comes to talk to her about July 4th. "Some things just don't make any sense."

Aint it the truth.


	94. The Clothes Make the Man

**The Clothes Make the Man**

_(A response to the prompt "taste." Post-war.)_

"You did _what?!_" B.J. gasped, surprised by his own reaction.

Hawkeye blinked. "I threw it out."

"You threw out the robe?" B.J. honestly had no idea why he was flipping out. Sometimes your knee-jerk reaction takes you so utterly by surprise that you have to laugh at yourself as if you're watching some other person entirely. "Your red robe? The one that went through the entire goddamn war with you… that you wore day in and day out… that robe."

One side of Hawkeye's mouth curved up. He appeared to be trying to refrain from laughing. "Yes. That would be the one."

"And you threw it out."

"I think we have established that, Beej."

B.J. waved a hand. "I just can't believe it, that's all."

"Clearly." Hawkeye still had that smirk on his face.

B.J. realized he must be very amusing right now. He waved his hand a second time. "Never mind, whatever."

"It was practically in tatters, Beej."

"OK, Hawk. Never mind."

And the subject was dropped, although Hawkeye did continue to wear that expression that seemed to be saying, _what a weird guy I live with_.

That weekend, B.J. went on what turned into a three-hour shopping spree to find an exact replica of the discarded robe.

* * *

"Hey, thanks, Beej!" Hawkeye exclaimed as he pulled the new crimson robe out of the gift box. He did seem genuinely thrilled to be getting a replacement, despite their earlier conversation when he'd acted like throwing out his robe was no big deal. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion, Hawk. You tossed out your old one, so I wanted you to have a new one. And I love you, so spending money on you makes me happy." B.J. smiled.

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes at him. "And that's all?"

"Sure." After a beat: "Well, plus I like to see you in a red robe. It's, I dunno… it's… sexy."

"Sexy," Hawkeye repeated. He looked at the robe, held it at arm's length, as if trying to figure out what made a robe sexy.

So B.J. helped him out. "It's _you _wearing the robe. That's what's sexy." He floundered, struggling for words. "Um, OK, let me see if I can explain."

The smirk was back on Hawkeye's face. "Please do."

"You wore the red robe all through the war… day or night, it didn't matter. It was your go-to uniform. And need I point out that I was falling in love with you during that same war. And so… uh… well, it was beautiful to me. The way you looked, the way you dressed… it was beautiful." His voice grew softer, "I love you and I loved your red robe, and it was upsetting when you said you threw it out. Does that make any sense at all?"

After a moment, Hawkeye gave a nod. And now instead of looking amused, he looked touched. "That's really sweet, Beej. I mean it."

"So, uh, how about we retire to bed… and you wear the robe for me?" He tried the Groucho eyebrow-bounce, but he wasn't as good at it as Hawkeye was. "I mean, wear the robe and nothing else."

Hawkeye, now looking aroused as well as touched, beamed at him. "Your wish is my command."

* * *

Poised over his lover on the bed, B.J. looked down and drank in the sight. He rocked back onto his heels to get the full picture. Hawkeye was stretched out on the sheets, his red robe on but wide open and fanned out around him, so that his naked body rested on it as if it were a plate and he were the dessert…

_Oh yeah,_ B.J. thought with a subconscious lick of his lips, _perfect analogy._

He stared and he smiled, and Hawkeye smiled back at him. "So the robe's always been a turn-on," Hawkeye marveled as he reached up and ran a finger lightly down the center of B.J.'s bare chest. "Little did I know."

B.J. leaned in for a kiss. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before throwing it out."

"I think you can bank on that, Beej." He patted the bed next to him. "Come lie down, mister."

But B.J. shook his head no. He put his hands on either side of Hawkeye, plunging them into the soft red fabric that surrounded him, and he leaned in again. He lightly kissed Hawkeye's neck… collarbone… chest… stomach…

"I like where this is going," Hawkeye quipped, even as he shuddered involuntarily.

"But let's keep the robe on," B.J. suggested, his mouth on Hawkeye's hip now, muffling the words a bit. He licked the skin there, and Hawkeye responded with a small buck.

B.J. loved the full-throated laugh that filled the room. "Oh my friend," Hawkeye said, the lust evident in his raspy voice, "if this is how you're going to react, I may never take the robe off again."

B.J. joined him in laughter even as he resumed tasting the man spread-eagled on the bed beneath him.

The dessert was delicious indeed.


	95. Reaching Out

**Reaching Out**

_(A response to the prompt "dream." Pre-slash; refers to the episode "Welcome to Korea.")_

In the dream, Hawkeye's reaching out his hand.

B.J. snaps awake. He's in the Swamp, he has no idea what time it is but it's still dark out, and he's sweating even though the tent's not warm at all. He kicks off his lousy excuse for a blanket.

He can't riddle out the dream (was Hawkeye in some kind of trouble?), and already the details are fading. He glances over to his left and Hawkeye—the real Hawkeye—is there in his cot, as he should be, curled onto his side and sleeping soundly. B.J. relaxes, shuts his eyes, and writes it off as nothing. Just a meaningless image in a dream.

B.J. has the dream four times before it finally dawns on him. It was his first day in Korea, and he and Hawk and Radar were driving from Kimpo to the 4077th when they came upon a troop of infantrymen. Out of the blue, mortar fire started exploding on all sides, and the bodies began falling. He and Hawkeye tried to help; they were doctors and wounded men were lying all around them, in pain, dying. B.J., upon seeing one of the most revolting images of death in his at-that-time short life, had to crawl away and vomit. Hawkeye came over to him and held his head while he was sick. And then, after B.J. quieted, Hawkeye held out his hand.

Hawkeye, holding out his hand.

_Ah…_ B.J. thinks, _that's it. The dream's from the past. Mystery solved._

Maybe so, but the dream persists, and B.J. starts to find comfort in it. And why not? It's a sweet thought. His best friend, his colleague, there to help.

The war drags on, and there are subtle changes in B.J.'s world, but they're so gradual he's not even fully aware of them. The photo of Peg that he keeps next to his cot falls to the floor of the Swamp and somehow ends up underneath his bed, but it's there for nearly two full weeks before he realizes it's missing and goes looking for it.

One morning during coffee in the mess tent, he's laughing at one of Hawkeye's jokes when the thought comes to him, unbidden: _God, what a beautiful smile this man has, it lights up his whole face, look at those crinkles at his eyes…_ B.J.'s alarmed at what his subconscious is saying, and he shakes the thought from his head.

One night while Frank works the overnight shift, B.J. and Hawkeye are lying awake in the Swamp, talking with the lights out, waiting for sleep to come and taking comfort in each other's voices. Hawkeye's trying to describe Crabapple Cove to B.J.—the swimming hole, the little shopping district downtown, the Studebaker dealership that brings out the huge searchlights every time they get in a new model. B.J.'s trying to picture every detail, his eyes closed and his smile wide, and he thinks, _It sounds like heaven. _Part of him means the tiny town that Hawkeye calls home, and part of him means that rich, soothing baritone of Hawkeye's that B.J. can't imagine going a day without hearing.

By the time B.J. realizes he's been in Korea for a full year, it doesn't even faze him when he refers to the Swamp as "home," and he can no longer remember what his wife's perfume smells like.

That dream never leaves him, the one where Hawkeye's standing before him, holding out his hand. He doesn't dream it every night, but it's with him often. On hellish nights after he's spent his waking hours in the OR, stitching kids back together, sometimes successfully and sometimes not… when he finally gets to shut his eyes on those nights, he usually has nightmares about what he's just witnessed. Nightmares about kids screaming and kids dying. But other nights, when work and life at the 4077th are a little less grim, the Hawkeye dream is there, and B.J. loves it.

He wakes up with the image still vivid in his mind and that's exactly what he thinks. He thinks, _I love it._

Then one day, without warning or fanfare or any particular reason, the realization comes. It's like pieces of a puzzle getting rearranged and finally put in the right places, locking together… and the picture becomes clear.

_No. I love __him__._

And then just one more click as the final piece slips into place. B.J. smiles in understanding. The dream isn't showing him his first day in Korea, that horrific baptism of fire he got while heading to camp. The dream isn't from his past at all.

The dream is his future.

Hawkeye's reaching out his hand. And B.J. takes it.


	96. That Was Then, This Is Now

**That Was Then, This Is Now**

_(A response to the prompt "choices." Post-war and post-relationship.)_

B.J. reaches into the cupboard and collects three large glasses. "Erin, honey," he says over his shoulder, "would you get the milk out of the fridge?"

She's eager to help and goes to the fridge, pulling out the gallon of milk and handing it to him. He carefully pours until the glasses are three-quarters full, smiling because he knows his daughter is watching him intently. He hands her one of the glasses, cautioning her, "No spilling, right, young miss?"

"Yes, daddy."

Hawkeye's coming up on his right, the loaf of bread in one hand and a butter knife in the other. B.J. takes a half-step out of the way, and as they pass one another—so very close—he nearly leans in for a kiss. It's an automatic reaction, something they did hundreds of times back in the Swamp, usually when Hawkeye was moving to the still and B.J. was scooting around him toward the stove or the door… assuming there was nobody else in the Swamp at the time, they'd kiss each other in passing. This isn't the Swamp, and it's years since Korea, but some habits are hard to break because they simply seem so right.

He manages to stop himself just in time. That was then and this is now… and besides, his 7-year-old daughter is just a few feet away. Hawkeye says, "Sandwiches comin' right up!" and he smiles, but he gives no indication that his mind has gone to the same place B.J.'s has.

B.J. suspects it has, though, because how could Hawk not have felt that electric charge that passed between them as they danced around one another?

He hands Hawkeye some plates to put the sandwiches on, and then he stands back and watches, as Erin is doing from the kitchen table. For her, Hawk is making a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but the guys' sandwiches will be Hawkeye Pierce's world-famous peanut butter and bologna. B.J. is—honestly—drooling in anticipation. He hasn't had one of these concoctions since Korea. He misses them.

He misses a lot.

Erin is giggling at the faces Hawkeye's making as he pretends to use great concentration and effort in throwing together her sandwich. Hawk looks over at her and winks, and her giggles turn louder. The two of them are a delight to watch, and B.J. leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, memorizing every moment.

Peg is upstairs in bed, although it really isn't all that late. Hawkeye visits often—far more often than B.J. would've imagined when they parted in Korea—but Peg has never entirely warmed up to him. She often bows out of the guys' activities, even if said activities are nothing more than making sandwiches and sitting in front of the TV to watch a movie. Erin's the polar opposite. She adores her Uncle Hawkeye and always wants to be with her daddy and his best friend, whether she completely understands what they're up to or not. Tonight, Peg relented when Erin begged to stay up a little later than usual to watch a movie with them.

Sandwiches, milk, a movie… a perfect evening. B.J. smiles again, as Hawkeye tosses bologna onto some slices of bread and digs peanut butter out of a nearly empty jar. B.J. can't help the smiling, and he can't bring himself to feel guilty about Peg, upstairs and left out… after all, it's her choice. His wife may not care for Hawkeye Pierce, but B.J. is certain she has no idea of his and Hawk's past relationship. They left that chapter of their lives in Korea, and they've been the epitome of discretion ever since.

He's almost positive he's never stared at Hawkeye over the dinner table, studying those hands that he loves so much, or those eyes that can sometimes be so blue you'd swear they held pieces of the sky. B.J. is sure his wife doesn't see the yearning, even if it is dangerously close to the surface. He and Hawkeye have gotten adept at keeping the past in the past.

The sandwiches are finished now, and Hawkeye twirls his knife in the air, announcing "Ta da!"

Erin claps and goes to him, hands out for her sandwich. B.J. picks up her glass of milk so she doesn't have to carry both. "No spilling or making a mess," he repeats. "Mommy will get mad."

Erin nods vigorously, promising, "Yes sir," and the three of them transport their snacks to the living room, setting everything on a tablecloth that covers the coffee table. B.J. turns on the TV, flicking the dial to the right channel, and then plops down on the floor next to Hawkeye… the three of them lined up at the coffee table, Hawkeye in the middle. Erin is already digging into her PB&J.

"What's the movie, Uncle Hawkeye?"

"It's a musical called _State Fair_, and it's one of the many movies that your daddy and I saw when we were in Korea. I think you'll like it, Erin."

Around her chewing, she observes, "You guys sure saw a lot of movies in Korea."

Hawkeye laughs and exchanges a look with B.J., who says, "We were bored when there wasn't any work to do. Movies were a pretty big deal."

What he doesn't say is that, toward the end of their time at the 4077th, the movies had become a lot less interesting compared to slipping away to the supply tent with Hawk for an evening of gland-to-gland combat, as they sometimes liked to call it. He blushes now, just thinking it. Luckily nobody notices.

"My sandwich is really good, Uncle Hawk!" Erin gushes. She's always eager to please him. B.J. figures it runs in the family.

"I'm so glad, Erin," Hawkeye says, then turns to his left. "How's yours, Beej?"

"Terrific, Uncle Hawk," he replies playfully. The unique blend of peanut butter and bologna tastes singularly Hawkeye, and he'd forgotten how much he loves it. It reminds him of how much he misses the taste of Hawkeye himself, and for a second he can't swallow around the emotion caught in his throat. But this is Mill Valley, 1957, and Korea is long past, and he realizes he's had to remind himself of that very obvious fact often on this night.

The movie starts and almost immediately Erin is engaged, and the three of them polish off their sandwiches as they watch the flickering TV set. At one point, B.J. hears movement upstairs… Peg heading to the bathroom, perhaps, or maybe even taking a peek down the stairs to check on them. But if that's what she's doing, she says nothing, and after a while there's no more noise from above.

During a commercial break, Hawkeye employs a falsetto to sing along with Dinah Shore as she advises folks to "See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet." Erin laughs so hard she can't seem to catch her breath, and Hawkeye clearly feeds off her reaction, becoming even more animated as the song goes on. B.J. drinks his milk and stares at them over the rim of the glass, loving them both so much he feels he could burst.

And it occurs to him that this is the life he wishes he had… the life he _could _have if he were a more honest person, and braver. This is the family he truly belongs to.

But then the movie comes back on, and he turns his attention back to _State Fair, _reminding himself this is Mill Valley, not Korea, it's years after the war, and his choices have been made.


End file.
